


A Dance of Districts

by bigdaddib



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Eventual Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Hunger Games, Inspired by The Hunger Games, district 12 gendry waters, district 2 arya stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdaddib/pseuds/bigdaddib
Summary: The 74th hunger games becomes highly anticipated when three familiar names rejoin the fight.A Lannister from District 1 who is known for his cruelty and ruthlessness.A Stark from District 2, surprising all of Panem by volunteering for her older sister.A boy from District 12, the name of Waters but the look of the last living tribute of District 12, Robert Baratheon.There hasn't been a Stark in the arena since the infamous Lyanna Stark was unexpectantly and brutally killed through the first alliance of all 12 Districts. All of them, except Robert Baratheon, who spent the rest of the Games seeking revenge for the woman he fell in love with.Now a Stark has returned, the spitting image of Lyanna Stark. And so has a Baratheon. Will history repeat itself? Or will these tributes take matters into their own hands?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 36
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

Gendry

His squirrel earned him six coins and two rolls of bread. Apparently. 

“What is this Hot Pie?” he asked, not touching it. 

Hot Pie shrugged. “Just…a pretty fat squirrel you got me here.”

Gendry rolled his eyes, “Your mother will have your balls if she knew you were giving me all this.”

Hot Pie shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t, not today.”

“Never struck me as the celebratory type.”

“Not like that. I mean she won’t even notice, take it. Edric’s innit this year, ain’t he? Something to distract him is all.”

Usually Gendry wouldn’t accept any sort of charity, no matter how many different fancy ways Hot Pie offered it. But he was right, Edric was in reaping today, as was his sister. Mia was already trying her damndest to get anything on their table, bribe at the peacekeepers for any little something. She was the one who usually did the hunting, Gendry wasn’t too good at being sneaky. He made shit for people, when he wasn’t secretly working in the mines. He was off today, everyone was. But not Mia, she could be found anywhere her family wasn’t this morning. So, they all looked to him, expected comfort, which was one thing he couldn’t provide. But maybe this bread could. 

He sighed, pocketing everything Hot Pie offered. “Just this once,” he grumbled, feeling the bread’s warmth in his pocket. Saliva filled beneath his tongue.

Hot Pie shrugged, wringing at his thick tan finger together. “His names not in there too much though, right? Just a couple.”

“Once,” was his firm response. “Just once.”

“Well,” Hot pie cleared his throat. “What about you?”

Gendry shook his head, “Gotta get going, give the brats this bread and all that,” he nodded his thanks before heading off. 

He never answered that question. Not to his sister, not to Hot Pie, not to Lommy, and certainly not to himself. He never allowed himself to keep track, if he did it would eat him alive more than any sort of starvation could. Not only him, but everyone else. They’d look at him when his head was turned, pity him for having to sink so low. He couldn’t handle shit like that, it made him unreasonably angry, like most other things tend to do. 

Ducking his head to walk into his family’s hovel, he was shocked to see Mia there, braiding Bella’s hair. Edric watched from across the table, his shirt buttoned up and sleeves rolled to his elbows. 

“Getting ready already?” Gendry asked.

“Nothing better to do. Your tubs ready,” Mia answered, fingers slim and nimble as they worked down Bella’s scalp. Her fingers were stark white compared to her younger sister’s black hair. 

The warmth of the bread, while dulled over time, still burned through his clothes. Clearing his throat, he retrieved them and set them onto the middle of the table. The air stilled, Bella’s hair dropped from between Mia’s fingers. 

“I’ll go have a bath then,” Gendry quickly dismissed himself, though his stomach was twisted into a painful knot begging him to take the bread back and run away. Far away, as far away as it went.

Instead he struggled through scrubbing and rinsing in the tiny bin, violently scratching through his hair, nowhere near as delicate with it as Mia would be. The bathwater was filthy when he was done, and he tried to ignore it. 

Returning to the table, he saw a corner of bread saved and three wide pairs of eyes staring at him. He managed a half smile, shaking his head. “You guys take it. I’m good,” so he wouldn’t have to listen to their protests, he busied himself with fixing his tie and walking out onto the front porch. Soon after, Edric came, holding up his own tie so Gendry would help. 

“Chin up,” Gendry said, draping it across the back of Edric’s neck. He was a big kid, just as he was. He came up to the middle of Gendry’s chest and maybe he’d be just as tall as him one day. 

“I…I don’t…” Edric wanted to ask questions, he could tell, but he could also see he didn’t know what to ask. He’d seen the Reaping firsthand for years now, he knew how it worked, everyone did. He knew it was scary, he knew it wasn’t really an honor, he knew his name was only in once, but still he wanted to ask. Was it scary? Why do people act like it’s an honor? Why do they have to do this?

“Way of the world, kid,” Gendry answered the questions he didn’t ask. “Just keep that chin up, got it?”

Edric hesitated before nodding. 

He needed comfort, reassurances. Gendry wanted to give it to him, but it was tempting fate. Telling him everything would be fine really meant nothing would be and it would be Gendry’s fault. He couldn’t tell him he wouldn’t be called, couldn’t tell him not to worry about it, no matter how badly Edric wanted to hear it. No one told Gendry that, he’d always been told not only to believe his name could be called, but to expect it. He couldn’t push that on Edric, but he also couldn’t push him into false security. 

“I-I—” Gendry clamped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back, kid. Alright?”

Edric’s shoulders dropped and his blue eyes softened. “Alright,” he echoed, his look less haunted. 

Gendry was proud of Edric as they went through processing. His back stayed straight, shoulders wide, and he lowered his hand to press his blood to the form, not once looking back to Gendry for strength.

“Kids a natural,” Lommy murmured. 

Gendry didn’t think it was right to feel proud, but he couldn’t help it. Not when there were sobbing twelve-year-old children all about him, being forced into processing, torn from their mother’s arms by peacekeepers. Edric acted as though he saw none of it, and maybe that’s not what Gendry should be teaching him, but that’s all Gendry does. Pretends he sees none of it, feels none of it.

“He’ll be fine,” Gendry said to no one in particular, Lommy happened to be the one listening. “He’s just in there the once.”

Lommy shrugged, “Those are some favorable odds.”

Soon after they were all lined up, watching Melisandre saunter onto the stage, her long red dress trailing thickly behind her, long red hair not too far behind it. She was unsettling. There wasn’t much color in his world, but he knew to run the other way when he saw red. She was drenched in it. 

“Welcome,” she drawled, voice dark and serious. She never failed to make the atmosphere heavy and uncomfortable, not that it was much lighter to begin with, but at least Gendry had been able to breathe. It made Robert Baratheon’s unsteady, wobbling legs welcome. 

“Welcome,” Robert mimicked dramatically, drawing his face down in a grimace. The rest of the introduction had Robert echoing each word that left Melisandre’s mouth, before she eventually got tired of it and pulled the dress he found himself standing atop, out from beneath his feet. His feet went over his head as he fell on his back, it tore a rare snort from Gendry, of which he covered with a cough. People hardly noticed coughing around there. 

“Well,” Melisandre set her gaze back onto the group and the air turned stale again. The hello’s were done, and so was the video. Now was the moment. 

“Ladies first,” she drawled, almost lazily. Her steps were long yet slow as she floated over to the glass bowl. Her fingers nails red and pointed as they circled the top of the bowl before stabbing deep inside.   
He tried desperately not to even think of Mia’s name, worried that alone would tip the odds in her favor. 

“Gilly Crastor.”

Gendry didn’t deny the relief he felt. That’s how it was, there was nothing to be done about it. You just hope it’s no one you care about, and when it isn’t, you force yourself not to care. The more practice, the less difficult it was. By now, he hardly focused on the young girl slowly making her way onto the stage. No, now he was focused on not sparing a single thought in Edric’s direction. He wanted his name nowhere near this stage, this district. He was so focused on this he didn’t bother to worry about himself. Not that it would’ve helped. 

“Gendry Waters,” said that haunting woman. 

Gendry blinked, eyebrows slightly rose, but that was about all he did before moving from his spot and toward the stage. He felt them staring, Lommy, Hot Pie, Mia, Edric…little Bella. He could also feel the others, their relief, and was almost happy for them. They lived another day, and in a sort of way, that was because of him. 

“Look at you,” Melisandre appraised. It was the first time Gendry’s stomach began to roll. He wasn’t listening, once again. Lost in the emptiness of his head. It was better for him like that, better for everyone. It used to be different, he used to get angry. Very angry. Robert Baratheon, 43rd Hunger Games angry, and no one was the better for it. Now he mostly lived inside himself, his thoughts a low, rumbling undercurrent he didn’t allow himself to feel. 

He looked out at the crowd, he avoided Mia and Edric’s blue eyes, he shook Gilly’s small hand, and then he was taken away.


	2. Chapter 2

Arya  
“I don’t want any of you volunteering,” Eddard Stark told his hoard of children. 

They were all sat at the dinner table, while he stood at the head of it, seeming to look each one of them in the eyes without once moving his gaze. Arya’s did, in the shape of a roll. 

“If you’re called, fine. But I don’t want you going in there willingly, do you understand?”

“But it’s expected,” Rob pushed back as he did every year when Ned gave them “the talk.” “They’re all talking about it, wondering why there hasn’t been a Stark in the arena since—”

“I don’t care what they’re talking about, I didn’t have all of you to represent District 2—”

“Didn’t you?” Arya spoke up. She loved her father, and she knew where he was coming from, but she was through with holding herself back for nobility. Whether that be her father’s newfound Morales, or the Capitol’s demand of self-sacrifice.

Ned’s mouth snapped shut as his gaze focused in on Arya alone.

“Aunt Lyanna didn’t die until Rob was fourteen, we were all born by then, and you had no reservations with the Games before that," she continued.

It was deadly silent, all her siblings except Sansa looking down at their hands. Sansa was instead glaring as hard as she could in Arya’s direction, but Arya was too busy looking at her father to pay attention. When Ned stayed silent Arya continued. 

“Its not like you refused to train us. I’ve known how to kill several men by the time I was ten, we all did. You haven’t been the most consistent.”

Ned Stark sighed, brought a hand to his chin. “What are you trying to say, Arya?”

Arya shrugged, she hadn’t been trying to say much, she just wanted her father to know he wasn’t fooling her. “You’re a Capitol favorite. We all reap the benefits of the system, so if you’re going to try and steer us away from that at least tell us the real reason why. You hate them now. You blame them, don’t act like this is what you’ve thought all along.”

Ned nodded, walked to her side of the table. “Okay, Arya. Yes, my winnings have supported this family for many years. My father’s winnings supported us before that, and then Benjen’s, and when I won I thought it was a Stark’s right to win. And yes, it wasn’t until Lyanna’s death that I realized it wasn’t a Stark’s right to win. What I also realized,” his hands grasped Arya’s shoulders, “Is that while the Stark name is praised in the capital, it is not in the districts. They’re tired of us, angry, not only for the glory, but for killing all of them. We are no longer legends, Arya, we are targets. The first one, not even the other career districts will tolerate us anymore, understand?” he raised a brow which Arya answered with her own. “If I can help it, I won’t lose any of you the way I lost Lyanna. Does this satisfy you?”

“Yes.” Jon spoke up, sitting across from her. She wasn’t considerate of him, throwing Lyanna’s name in like she had, which is the only thing she felt bad about. “It does,” Jon’s eyes told her to let it go. 

“I just wanted the truth,” Arya continued anyway. “I hate talking around everything all the time. Especially about the Games. They’re wrong, and its wrong we’ve profited off them for so long, and its wrong for the Capitol to—”

“Arya!” her mother hissed from the doorway. 

Arya threw her hands up, “Fine. We’ll ignore it, until next year, when you give this talk again. Until then,” Arya saluted her father as she did during training her entire life before scraping her chair from the table and making her way out. 

Ned didn’t train them the same way most were trained in District 2. All her friends were sent to “secret” academies, sparred with dummies and threw daggers and shot arrows at clear targets. They were monitored closely, took breaks for water and always ate lunch at 12. The Stark family was different. Ned’s training was releasing them into the woods in the dead of winter and basically reenact the hunger games for a month. Then, when it was the hottest time of year he did it again, times in the middle he refused to feed them until they found a way to find a meal themselves, and buying it from the store was against the rules. 

Sure, in the middle they trained as everyone else did. With the dummies, with the targets. But eventually they switched out those things for each other. Moving targets who knew you were aiming for them were always the hardest to hit, especially when they were aiming back at you. Arya didn’t need to volunteer for the games, she grew up in them. Lived in them. Maybe volunteering was her one way out of them. 

She shoved her jacket and boots on, grabbed her bow out of pure habit before finding a place in the woods to be good and angry. 

It was like Nymeria could tell when she was coming, could smell her in the air. She sat waiting for Arya under a large tree, relaxing in the shade. When Arya was ten Ned gave them all baby wolves to raise and train, only to murder them a year later. Arya understood the lesson, since in the games there can only be one winner, no matter how attached you be to the other tributes. Still, she couldn’t do it, instead she rushed Nymeria out the back door of her house and the large wolf had been there for her ever since. Jon had done the same, but Aunt Lyanna hadn’t been so keen on the lesson as Arya’s father had been. He still got to keep Ghost in the house with him, let him sleep in the same bed as him. Not for the first time, Arya had a yearning to have been Lyanna’s child, she certainly looked the part, and she admired the spark her aunt had been able to maintain, the kind her father lost a long time ago. 

Pressing her bow into the ground, she found warmth in Nymeria’s thick fur. She wouldn’t use the bow, she knew as soon as she walked out with it. Not even when Ned had them hunt for their own food did she use it. Instead she foraged through plants and berries and made do. Arya found killing animals unnecessarily a bit distasteful, and she suspected she’d hate killing people just as much. Lyanna did too, and Ned says that’s what got her killed. Arya didn’t agree, she thinks that’s what allowed her to live so fully. She’d rather live as Aunt Lyanna had, short or not, than to become so long and drawn out as her father was now, a walking worry line. 

No, that wasn’t him. It was the Games. The Games who had eaten him up and spat him out, as it did with everyone, everyone, especially here. In the career districts. Say what you want about the outer districts, maybe they didn’t do as well in the arena, but they still escaped the games in a way districts like Arya’s never could. Once a year, they lived in fear, but the rest of the time they were free to carry on in their lives. Arya couldn’t imagine that, simply living and not training. Being her own person. It’s all she wanted.

“Arya,”

Jon found her, as she knew he would. Ghost trailed behind him, sniffed the air. 

“Jon,” she answered. 

“I don’t know what you expect him to do. He’s doing his best, to protect you. All of us.”

Arya shrugged, watched her hand disappear into Nymeria’s fur. “Maybe I don’t want to be protected anymore.” 

Arya never bothered to dress up for reaping anymore. It was wasted on the large crowd who paid no attention to her. She stuck to whatever was her usual, which happened to be training gear. Light tank top, green cargo pants, sturdy belt the same leather as her thick but worn in boots. Her hair was braided back, as Aunt Lyanna used to wear it. 

Sansa was annoyed by this, but only because she wanted someone to get ready with. 

“Not even a little make up?” she tried. 

Arya rolled her eyes, “What for? To immediately take it off when its all over?”

“To look pretty. Not everything has to mean something, you know.”

Arya snorted, cuddled further into her bed as Sansa got ready. 

“Predictions?” she asked. 

Arya’s lips pursed. “I know Ramsey will volunteer, no doubt.”

“Depends on who the girl is. If It’s one of us, for sure.”

Arya rolled this over in her head. Boltons have always had it out for the Starks, since they kept beating them in the arena, in classes. Lately, Ramsey had been very open on his want to ruin their name for good. 

“What if they call Bran?” Sansa asked as she did every year. This was their biggest fear as a family, their crippled brother being forced into the Games. It seemed right up the Capitol’s alley.   
“Then one of us will volunteer. Obviously, that’s the one exception.”  
“Rob’s too old.”  
“Jon’ll do it. Even Rickon will have to, anyone but Bran.” 

Sansa nodded, none of what Arya said comforting in the least. Jon following in his mother’s footsteps, little Rickon pushed into the arena on his first reaping. 

“I don’t want it to be me,” Sansa whispered. 

Arya sat up, this was the first time Sansa admitted to that, and their pre-reaping conversation has always been pretty standard. 

“I don’t think I…could be alone like that. I don’t think…if it were real like that…I’d step off that pedestal as fast as I could.”

Arya was out of bed and hugging her older sister in record time. She had no idea. Arya herself was never scared of her name being called, indifferent to it if she was being honest. Sansa had never let off her feelings were different. 

“Shh, shh,” Arya soothed, Sansa’s tears warming the skin at her neck. “There…there will be volunteers, there always are,”

Sansa scoffed, pushing harshly away from Arya and wiping primly under her eyes. She allowed herself one last sniffle and it was like nothing happened at all. Her back was straight her face was smooth, the picture of perfect. “Not against us Arya. If a Starks called, a Stark will be in that arena.” Smoothing out her dress, Sansa turned to her younger sister. “Well than, are you ready?”

Arya snuck glances to all of her siblings through out the reaping. If Sansa was so worried about the Games, how did the rest of them feel? Was Jon terrified to face his mother’s death? Was Rickon frightened of the older tributes? 

Why wasn’t Arya scared? 

It wasn’t odd for her siblings to be worried. Scared. It was the most normal thing there was. It was Arya who was odd, who felt nothing in the face of death. She’d always thought it was simply her training, but her siblings were trained just the same and they managed to feel something. 

Olenna Tyrell politely cleared her throat into the microphone, and like the good little soldiers they all were, all of district two stood at attention. Backs straight, unblinking, they accepted their fate. But, maybe for the first time, Arya didn’t. 

“Looks like someone’s been practicing,” Olenna managed a private wink to the large crowd of people. “Well, let’s get on with it then, play the video.”

Arya paid no attention to the video, nor did she pay any attention to what Olenna had to say in its conclusion. She did pay attention as Olenna approached the reaping bowl for the men. Casting an anxious look to Bran, her hands tightened around themselves behind her back. 

“Let’s see, my vision isn’t what it used to be you know,” Olenna took her time squinting at the paper, bringing it closer to her face before pushing it away. She did this every year, and Arya didn’t think she had any problems with her eyes. 

“Oh yes, I see now. Rob Aryyn—”

“I volunteer as tribute,” 

Arya didn’t have to look to know Ramsey Bolton was the one with his hand sliced up into the air. The Games has been his dream as soon as he came into this world. At least she wasn’t like him. 

Again, she tuned herself out during his processing. Standing in the relief her brother was safe another year.

“Alright then, let’s get on with it,” Olenna said again, approaching the girls. Arya bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet. Yes, lets please get on with it, she thought.

“Let me see,” Olenna considered the paper, fiddled with it as was suspected, before clearing her throat. “Oh yes, I see now. Sansa Stark,”

Arya paused on her tip toes, shooting Sansa a look. The girl crying in her arms was no longer there. Red hair falling delicately about her shoulders, Sansa didn’t even blink before making her way to the podium, head held as high as it could get. 

Arya hadn’t thought twice. “I volunteer,” she called out, just as calmly. Sansa’s footsteps halted. The air hung still, confused. What was the point in one Stark volunteering for another? Feigning boredom, Arya stepped out of line. “Did you hear me?”


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry’s family was never big on talking to each other. Or maybe, Gendry was never big on talking to them. They were hastily put together, the unwanted children of their district’s only Victor, though it was never confirmed. What was confirmed was none of their mother’s managed to survive and support them at the same time, so their only chance was to stick together. 

Gendry wished he had talked to them more. Learned more about them. It was too late now. Edric was trying to hide his tears, Bell was openly sobbing, Mia was chewing at her thumbnail, evaluating him.

“What?” Gendry asked. 

Popping her thumb from her mouth, Mia crossed her arms. “I think you could do it.”

Gendry scoffed. “No need to play the supportive big sister, you’ve already done enough for me.” 

“I’m serious,” she said, face giving away nothing but the bluntness of her words. “You’re good enough.”

Gendry shook his head. “If you say so Mia,” he wasn’t going to push now, he’d only get angry, and that’s not how he wanted them to remember him. Like their father. 

Miah shrugged, “If you want to throw it away fine. But know you can do it, and you can come back to change all our lives,” she looked back to Edric and Bella. Bella was in Edric’s arms, wiping at red cheeks, Edric’s chin was at a quiver. Gendry sighed at the sight of them. 

“Come here,” he opened up his arms. Bella was the first to rush into them, Edric slowly after. Miah popped her thumb back into her mouth. Gendry looked to her. “Mia?”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh…alright,” she took an unsure step forward, then sauntered into the hug. It was hot, bony, and a bit awkward with all the varying heights, but Gendry was filled with love much stronger than he knew he had. “You can do it,” Mia whispered on last time, and soon after the peacekeeper came in to usher them out. 

Hot pie and Lommy came in soon after, neither having much to say. Hot Pie was openly sobbing, getting tears all over the rolls he was shoving into Gendry’s lap. Then Gendry was grouped back with Gilly and shoved onto the train. 

He blinked once, twice, and the cleanliness of the inside remained. He’d never seen anything so clean, polished. It made him nervous to touch anything, lest he ruin it. Melisandre, however, let her finger drag on whatever surface available to her. “Shall we get started then?” she glanced back to them, eyebrow raised. Gendry and Gilly shared a nervous look. “We can start by seeing who you to will be facing, they should be wrapping up about now—”

“Isn’t Robert going to—” Gilly trailed off, looking around for their mentor.

Gendry’s breathe turned to rock in his throat. Robert. Robert Baratheon. He would be traveling with him for the next three months, be living with him. He’d have to swallow whatever he told him, as though he wanted his advice, wouldn’t rather die than listen to it. 

“Robert is preoccupied at the moment, we can try again later,” Melisandre waved her off, and though Gilly seemed troubled by this, Gendry was relieved. He couldn’t deal with him on top of everything else today. “Sit down you two, let’s see what the other districts are up to.”

Hesitantly, Gendry sat on the white leather couch facing what he assumed was the television. He’s had little experience with them, and the ones he has seen were no where near as sleek as the one he was facing now. Lazily, Melisandre turned it on. She was correct in assuming the Reaping was mostly over, Illyrio recapping everything. 

“For those of you just tuning in, we’ve got quite a line up this year. It’s looking like it’ll be one of our better years yet, with not one, or two, but three familiar names we’ll get to see battle it out!” he clapped eagerly. “Let’s start at the top, shall we. Right off the bat, we’ve got a Lannister in the ring. Let’s watch,” 

Clips from District 1’s reaping flashed onto the screen. Gendry’s was then forced to endure Joffrey Lannister’s volunteering, followed by another volunteer. Her name didn’t stick with him, not like Lannister did. Both his grandfather and his uncle were some of the most famous victors Gendry knew about. Apart from the Starks, and his …father, of course. But the Game’s haven’t seen a Stark since his father won the Games.

Apparently, that wasn’t the case anymore. 

“Now, do we have a treat for you. If you thought District 1 was exciting, wait until you see this. Roll it back!”

Gendry was still deciding whether he wanted to genuinely pay attention or not when Sansa Stark was called. A Stark again? There was going to be a Stark in the arena, and Mia really thought he could win? Robert hadn’t even beaten a Stark, rather than fall in love with one and rage when she was killed. That’s what he’s heard, at least. 

“I volunteer,”

Gendry blinked at the screen. The younger Stark sister, smaller than the first, with darker hair. His gaze glued to her, the casualness to her stance. It was different than the other volunteers, who did so with determination and the hunger for glory in the eyes. This girl, this Stark girl, seemed to be doing it out of nothing but boredom. The arena stared at her, as did Gendry, totally speechless. What motive would she have for taking her sister’s place? Glory would come back to their name anyway, not that it ever left. When the silence continued to linger, the girl cocked a hip and crossed her arms, “Did you hear me?” 

She was escorted up to the podium beside the male tribute, ignoring him completely. At some points she took to yawning, checking her nails. Gendry wasn’t sure how he felt about this, about her. This was life ending for some people, for him. His family would suffer for this, would struggle for food and money. Hers would be just fine, but she chose to give it up. What sort of person could do that? 

Then again…looking at her…there was something that caught at him. 

“It’s uncanny,” Melisandre squinted at the screen. 

“What is?” Gendry asked quickly, wanting to know as much as he could about the Stark girl. 

Melisandre didn’t have to answer before Illyrio did it for him. “I know what you’re thinking. She’s the ghost of the famous Lyanna Stark, isn’t she? Well, lets hope she gives just as good a show as her aunt did. Moving on to district three!” 

Gendry lost all interest, paying closer attention to his impeccable surroundings. The casual lay out of fruits and sweets sat on top of the table in front of him. Slowly, unsure if it was allowed, he reached for an apple. He felt Gilly watching the movement, and when he got away with it, quickly followed suit.

“And now district 12. No, no! Don’t go just yet, this’ll be interesting, I promise. Let’s see if our male tribute reminds you of anyone,” Illyrio grinned into the camera. Gendry didn’t need to watch his own reaping, in fact he preferred not to. He focused all his attention on his apple. It wasn’t hard either, he could probably count on one hand how many apples he’s had in his life. They were sweet, crisp. There was something satisfying about the way it moved against his teeth. 

Melisandre turned to look at him and he thought she was going to yell at him for eating the food. His chewing slowed. 

“He’s right,” she murmured.

Gendry swallowed thickly. “What?”

“You do look just like he did,”

It was reflex to roll his eyes, that anger itching up his spine. “Whatever you say,” he mumbled. 

Illyrio was next to comment on it. “There you have it. A Baratheon and a Stark in the Games again. Not only that, but the spitting image of their elders. Let’s see if they’ll follow in they’re predecessor’s footsteps, shall we?” Illyrio’s grin was wicked when the television switched off. Gendry stared at it for a while. What did that mean? That he would fall in love with the Stark girl and go on a rampage when she turned up dead? Did they want that to happen again? 

He finished his apple. “I’m not a Baratheon.”


	4. chapter 4

Arya  
She sat across from her father for near an hour on the train ride. Her leg bobbed up and down, waiting for him to start the conversation. Instead, he sat in front of her, elbows on his knees, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Her mouth twisted to the side, did he really expect her to be silent for this long? 

“It’s not like I volunteered for a random person,” she said eventually. 

Eddard Stark nodded and leaned back into his chair. “No, you didn’t.”

Arya’s brow raised. 

Her father shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Arya,” he sighed. “Why did you do it?”

Sansa would not want her weakness revealed to their father. So instead of telling him the truth, Arya shrugged. “I figured why not. It’s not like you can blame me for it, I figured it was a sort of loophole.”

Ned sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I don’t believe you, Arya.”

Arya shrugged, “Okay.”

“Did Sansa ask you to?”

Arya snorted. 

“Did you want to upstage her in some way, because honestly Arya, I thought we were past that.”

“Would you rather it be her?” Arya asked. “Do you wish I hadn’t done it?”

“I have no answer to that.” Ned returned calmly. “I just want to understand what happened.”

“Maybe I just want to play,” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. There was a certain curiosity within her, but not for the same reason her father thought. She didn’t want to win, she wanted to push. She wanted to see how far she could get. 

Ned evaluated her. He stared at her deeply, lips pursed in thought. Arya let him. Eventually he nodded, “Maybe,” he conceded.

Would you look at that, she was already winning. 

Arya watched Illyrio’s recap and was sort of flattered by his comparison of her and Lyanna. And when Gendry Waters was called she turned to her father. He was already in the middle of a frown. 

“Does he really?” she asked. 

He squinted at the screen. “Just like him,” he whispered, almost amazed. 

Arya decided to take a closer look too, not because he looked like Robert Baratheon, but because he was fun to look at. “He’ll be a fan favorite,” she commented. “Was Robert popular with the crowd?”

Ned nodded, “Very,” he hadn’t looked away from the screen. “Still is.”

Arya collapsed back into the couch, huffing. “If he wins they’ll make some good money off of him.”

He father turned the tv off, turning to her with a stern look. “Arya, don’t talk like that.”

“Like I might lose or the secret workings of the Capital?” her head tilted to the side. 

“Both.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “If I’m going to die anyway, may as well say what’s on my mind.” 

“Then why not stay alive,” her father returned just as gruffly. “You can do it Arya; I’ve made sure of that.”

“Lyanna was supposed to do it too. I am supposed to live up to her legacy, after all.”

“No one was expecting what happened to Lyanna. No one. We’re expecting it now.”

“What? For all the districts to team up and take me out?”

“Yes.”

Arya sighed, “Can’t wait.” It was a bit exciting. She’d never fought an entire nation before. 

Ramsey was a shit. Always has been, always will be. The difference was, now she had to live with him. 

He peeled apples and didn’t bother eating them, just left the skin in piles on the floor and cores in heaps on the table. Arya blinked at the mess, picking at her fingernails with her knife. 

Ramsey caught her eye, “What? I’m only practicing,” he grinned, knife slipping and slicing the apple in half. “Woops.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Oh, I’m so scared,” she stuck a peeled apple with the pointy end of her knife, started eating it. “Good job, quite tasty,”

Ramsey’s smile didn’t slip, but he didn’t reach for another poor defenseless apple either. “I can hardly take credit for the apple’s flavor,”

Arya shrugged, “I’m sure it was the fear from these poor creatures that gave it it’s tang,” she tossed the rest over her shoulder before finishing. 

“What do you think?” Ramsey mimicked Arya’s position, feet cross on the table in front of them. Arya’s lip curled with their boots brushed, bringing hers back to the ground. 

Arya gave a tired, “What?” expression. 

“About the other tributes?” Ramsey clarified, using his dagger to pick at his teeth. “Any of them have your apples shaking?”

Arya rolled her eyes, her right leg fidgeting restlessly. She didn’t want to talk to Bolton, the longer she did, the less likely she was to wait for the arena. “My apples are quite steady, thank you for asking. No Lannister or Baratheon has ever bothered me,” she’s met them, multiple times, and couldn’t say any lived up to their name. Robert was belligerently drunk most of the time, and the Lannisters heads were so far up their own asses Arya wondered how they knew anything about anything at all. Joffrey was the worst of them, the little brat, Arya hoped she’d be the one to kill him. “I mean you’ve met them…oh wait,” Arya’s head tilted, “No you haven’t. Your families never been invited to the Captiol…have they?”

Ramsey’s grin turned forced. 

“I’d nearly forgotten,” Arya giggled delicately into her hand. “With the way your family holds itself, you’d think they'd produced at least one Victor. Who knows, Ramsey, maybe it will be you who starts the tradition.”

“It will,” the boy’s jaw was set angrily. “And I’ll end yours,”

Arya sighed, getting up and dusting her pants off. “Promises, promises.” 

Arya sat straight backed in front of the window, waving to large crowd of Capitol residents. They cheered and whooped, shouting her name over and over. Not even just, “Stark,” as she thought they would, but “Arya! Arya!” She had an almost overwhelming urge to flip them off. 

Ned Stark stood stiff at her side, watching. “They like you already,” he mused. 

“Why wouldn’t they? I’m very likeable, you know.”

“You made an impression. For better or worse, I don’t know.”

Ramsey sat at the window next to her, he waved too, but no one called his name. “Aren’t you supposed to be coaching me too, Mentor?” Ramsey prodded. “Or do you have your favorites?”

Her father sighed. “They don’t seem to know you at all, Bolton.”

Again, the boy’s smile stilled, but didn’t slip away. “They will, soon.”

“Not a bad thing, necessarily,” her father moved to the other tributes side. “There have been many victors who seemed to come out of nowhere.”

“I guarantee you, Stark,” Ramsey waved more enthusiastically, “They’ll see me coming.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! Really wasn't expecting it honestly, but super happy you guys are interested!
> 
> I know there's a lot of technical problems in the story, hopefully I'll be able to fix them in a timely fashion. 
> 
> I decided to just put their perspectives in the same chapter to add a little length, since that's something I seem to struggle with. Hope you enjoy!

Gendry

Gendry was deep—deep—in breakfast when Robert Baratheon emerged from his rooms for the first time in three days. Heavily, he landed into he seat opposite Gendry, eyes focused entirely on his said to be son. 

“Let’s see then,” Robert leaned forward, squinting at Gendry. In response, Gendry set his fork down, appetite lost. “You’ve got the look about you, no denying that,” Robert grunted. 

Gendry’s blood set to a simmer, the warning before everything turned red. If he didn’t calm down now, he never would. 

His breathes had just began to even out, when Robert asked, “Which one was your mother?”

In a breathe, Gendry was across the table, his father’s throat caught between large hands. It was good they were large too, otherwise they wouldn’t fit around his fat neck. It took three peacekeepers to pry Gendry off of him, but not even they got out unscathed. Two walked away, cradling their wrists and another with his hand to his head. 

Gendry grinded his teeth in an effort to not attack Robert again, sitting back down, and stabbing a fork through food he had no intentions of eating. 

Robert coughed for a while but when he was done, he said, “That’s it! Haha, atta boy!”

Gendry’s skin crawled with his father’s approval. Its what he’s been fighting all of his life, everything that connected them. Its why he had trouble with mirrors. “Shut up,” he growled. 

“That’s how it’s done right there, show them fancy fucks how 12 does it,” Robert remained jolly, undisturbed by his son’s sour mood. If anything, it only seemed to urge the older man on further. 

“S-so…” Tentatively, Gilly sat into the seat between the two men, not before shooting her fellow tribute a nervous look. “Will you…mentor us now?”

Gendry rolled his eyes, not bothering to hold back a groan. 

“I’ve got no advice girl. You’ve either got or you don’t, and you don’t. My boy, haha, my boy over here, I’d say he’s got it!” 

Gendry violently scraped his chair against the floor, knowing if he didn’t leave, he’d attack again. Stomping away, Robert continued, “Look at him go, keep it up son!”

Not once, not one time, did Gendry ask to be called “son” by Robert Baratheon. 

After that, Gendry didn’t leave his room much on the way to the Capitol. He stepped out, once in a while, grabbed a plate of food, and retreated back into solitude. He tried not to think much, in a room by himself. He also tried not to think much when he was home either, but there he had things to do. Mouths to feed, items to sell, squirrels to kill, there wasn’t time to think, not even in that split second after his head hit the pillow but before he fell asleep. It was easy like that, to ignore worries and stress, to not think about how hungry he was. 

He didn’t have to think about hunger there, on that train. Not his own, anyway. He tried not think about his family’s. What they were managing to eat that day, yesterday, tomorrow, if there was a way he could send them a goody bag from there. He tried not to think about where he was going, who he was going to meet, how much time he’d have to spend with Robert Baratheon, how much he’d have to hear him talk. The Games were almost a happy alternative, if it meant he’d never have to hear that man call him “son” again. 

When he was finally forced out of that room and made to look at his crowd of adoring fans, it was enough to distract him for a while. They cheered happily, hungrily for him, almost like they liked him. Loved him, even. Yet, they were sending him off to die, and would probably cheer for that too. Now, though, they chanted his name and waved souvenir Warhammers in the air, the main weapon Robert used to win his games. 

“I don’t think its me they’re cheering for,” Gendry said, not to Robert, but in his direction. 

“Nonsense, boy,” his meaty hands landed on Gendry’s shoulders. Gendry jumped, stiffening all over. “They just know what to expect from you, and I know you won’t disappoint.”

“You don’t know me,” Gendry barked, jerking out of the man’s grip. “And neither do they.” 

“Now son,” Robert turned to both tributes before entering the building, but only looked at Gendry. “They’re gonna pick and prod at ya, something fierce. Probably gonna do something about that beard too. You got no reason to take a swing or fight em off, sort of harmless, they are. All you gots to do is sit there and tolerate it, quicker you do that, quicker it’ll be over.”

“What are they…what are they going to do?” Gilly spoke up. She always asked questions despite Robert making it abundantly clear to her she wouldn’t last a week. 

“Guess they try an’ make you look pretty. You’re gon’ think they only make ya look silly, but your opinion don’t matter in there, ya hear me boy? They don’t give a shit bout what you want or what you wanna do, so don’t fight them,” Robert set Gendry with a firm look. It was at that moment Gendry realized, with more than a dollop of pride, that he was taller than the older man. His chin jutted out. 

“I wasn’t gonna try and fight em,” he grunted, crossing his arms. 

Robert threw out a laugh, punched the younger boy’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t be my son if you didn’t.”

Gendry swore right then that he wouldn’t. 

It was hard not to. Every time they come up him carrying some alien, large, metal device he had the instinct to hit and run. His fists often clenched and his teeth stayed firmly gritted, but he managed to keep his reflexes in check. He couldn’t help but shout every so often. 

“Fuck is this?” he wiped harshly at his stinging jaw, eliciting an exasperated sigh from the clowns jerking him about. 

“Now we have to put it back on again,” they nagged, not answering his question. “Don’t touch,” the girl slapped his hand away, the boy rolling his eyes. They looked similar, both had curling brown hair, both delicately pretty. Both dressed head to toe in various forms of roses. Gendry hoped they wouldn’t be dressing him the same. 

“He’s got fine shoulders,” the girl mused, rinsing Gendry off. He felt his cheeks redden. 

“He’s shy too,” the boy noted, noticing. “They’re always shy.”

“Should we do his chest too?” The girl asked, circling back around next to the boy. Together they stared openly at Gendry’s bare torso. Gendry looked to the ceiling and waited for it to be over. “It would be a bit of a shame, really. But hair is not really the fashion.”

“Robert was very hairy his season, so he might be able to get away with it. Besides, we already got rid of his beard,” the boy trailed a finger down Gendry’s jaw. “So, he looks different enough. We need to keep them connected somehow.”

This was worse than the large metal contraptions, he wished they’d pull out another one and stop staring and talking about him like this.

“We’ll keep it then,” the girl smiled coyly at Gendry, forcing him to look back up at the ceiling. “It’ll be a nice surprise for everyone.”

“He’s going to be a favorite,” The boy grinned, almost greedily. 

The girl nodded, mirroring the boy’s expression. “Just like Robert.” 

When they stuffed Gendry in another room and told him his stylist would meet him shortly, he expected someone similar the boy and girl who’d spent the last several hours hazing him. What he got a middle aged man, balding but fully bearded, wearing an outfit that was undoubtedly expensive, but not too foreign from the clothing back at twelve. His entrance confused Gendry, but it set him at ease.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said immediately. 

“Get that a lot,” the man smiled with the side of his mouth, holding a hand out. “Davos Seaworth,”

The name sounded familiar, and when Gendry went to shake his hand, he found all his fingers shortened, “You’re…?”

“District 4 victor, few years back. Several, more likely. They let me give it a go around these parts, don’t really know what else to do with me, I think. Not pretty enough for the fun stuff, not handy enough for the technical stuff,” he wiggled his shortened fingers and grinned. “So,” he straightened his back, crossed his arms. “What are we to do with you Gendry? Coal miners, are ya?”

Gendry only nodded. 

“You know,” Davos kept his arms crossed as he sat beside Gendry. “I’ve been given instructions to make sure you go out there bare chested, how do you feel about that?”

Gendry didn’t feel very good about that at all. He could hardly tolerate it when the Rose twins gawked at him. “I’d rather not,” he grunted. 

“Didn’t think so. You don’t seem the type,” Davos pressed a finger to his chin. “Makes our options a bit limited here, Gendry. Would you rather be dressed as your father?”

“No."

“I got one idea,” Davos muttered, now scratching at his beard. Gendry wondered how he convinced the Capitol to let him keep it. Gendry hasn’t been clean shaven since he was 12, without his beard he felt something close to naked. “But you’d have to trust me. Think you can do that, Gendry?”

Gendry hesitated. He didn’t want to trust anyone in the Capitol, but Davos wasn’t from the Capitol, he was from the districts. Perhaps not his district, but it was as close as Gendry was likely to get. “I guess?” 

They put him in a sort of leather tunic, paired with pants and boots out of the same material. Gendry had never worn something so expensive, or so bloody tight. One step and he was nervous he was going to rip at the seams. Davos considered him with an eyebrow raised. “Should be good enough. Its tight enough to make the audience happy, and that is the main goal Gendry, you got that?” Davos considered him seriously. “It’s important they like you,”

Gendry shifted his weight, shrugging. “Okay.”

“Doesn’t look like you totally understand, son.”

Gendry didn’t mind the “son” as much coming from Davos. “Just don’t think it matters much either way,” he confessed.

“But it does. Sponsors matter, and being Robert’s son people already got a predisposition to like you. You gotta keep up that image, whether you like it or not. Understand?”

Gendry understood, he just didn’t care. “Yeah,” he grunted. Quickly distracted. 

The other districts were beginning to line up, and though he was in the very back, and the Stark girl in the very front, she still managed to catch his eye. She was deep in conversation with the man that looked like her stylist, half his long hair red the other white with a sort of mystic look about him. Arya Stark seemed glued to his every word, nodding absent mindedly, biting at her bottom lip. They dressed her up as a sort of warrior, padded with a leather corset with silver linings. The same silver metal was made into armory covering her shoulders, elbows, and knees. There was a dangerously large sword strapped to her back, forcing her dark hair to be twisted up into a bun, wisps of curls framing her striking face. Gendry blinked. 

Noticing Gendry’s distraction, Davos followed his gaze. “Careful,” he said when he saw Arya Stark. “That’s nothing but trouble.”

Gendry reddened. “I didn’t-I wasn’t—”

“I know, just telling you. The Starks remember, and they won’t make the same mistakes twice. She’s ready for anything, I guarantee you,”

Gendry had no doubt the Stark girl was ready for anything. Undoubtedly, she was ready for him, he just wasn’t sure if he was ready for her. 

“Alright,” Davos snapped in Gendry’s face when he caught his gaze wandering again. “Pay attention. When the feeling strikes you, go ahead and press this button,” Davos handed him a sort of mini remote. Gendry stared. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“It’ll set you on fire,” Davos answered, simply. 

Gendry’s brows rose, “Right, I’ll get right on that then.”

Gilly had sauntered up sometime during this, and asked, “How will it set us on fire?”

“It won’t be real fire, just look like it. You should be fine. I’d explain it to you, Gilly, but I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated and would take up more time than we have.”

“Will we be able to put it out?’ she asked. 

“Just press the button again.”

“Will it—”

“It’s almost time to go, better get up in the carriage.” Davos shoved at the center of Gendry’s back, and Gendry climbed the rest of the way himself, looking at the sleek black button. Fire? Fake Fire? This is what they did in the Capitol? 

“Can I see it?’ Gilly asked. 

Gendry was a little hesitant to hand it over, “Uhm…” before he could answer their carriage was being pulled forward. 

The crowd seemed even bigger than the one greeting him from the train, though there was less space for them. They were louder too, and not only did they thrust toy Warhammers into the air upon his entrance, they threw them at him. Gendry almost took it as a threat. Accidently, he caught one, and the crowd went crazy. 

“Do it,” Gilly whispered about halfway through. 

Gendry didn’t realize what she was talking about, then felt the button in his hand. “Oh,” he pressed it, trying not to wince. 

The flames started at his ankles, ran up his legs, and soon everything was blazing. He had the instinct to scream, but swallowed it through the clench of his jaw. If he thought the crowd went crazy when he caught that Warhammer, it was nothing compared to what they were doing now. Now they were absolutely ravenous, calling his name, reaching out for him. They were throwing even more stuff at him, one seemed to be barreling straight toward his face and to deflect, he raised his arm up to defend himself. It was the arm that was still holding the Warhammer, and when he thrusted it up in the air he could see the crowd falling over themselves in an effort to reach him. 

When the parade ended and the tributes paused in a half circle, he could see all of them staring at him. Immediately he set the Warhammer down, almost guiltily. 

“Welcome!” Aegon Targaryen’s loud and somewhat restless voice rang out, distracting the other tributes from Gendry, all but one. 

Arya Stark was still staring at him, even as Aegon Targaryen was giving his speech she was evaluating him, looking up and down. It was then Gendry realized him and Gilly were still on fire, and he clicked the button once again to put them out. Still, Arya Stark looked at him. When she saw he was looking back her head tilted to the side, stray hairs falling against her cheek. He noticed then, the armor decorating her person mirrored the grey silver of her eyes, even from this far away. Gendry couldn’t be sure if she grinned or not before looking away. Gendry heaved out a breath, not necessarily from relief, but from a lack of pressure. 

Arya  
She went in with most of their work done for them. Her legs were already shaved, her hair was already trimmed and she as already freshly showered. Her appointment was all of thirty minutes when she was sent to her stylist. 

He was in the room before she was, considering fabrics. “A girl is early,” he said. 

Arya has already met her fair share of Capitol wierdos, but this man had an air about him totally foreign to her. “You don’t know my name?” she took a tentative step forward. 

He looked back at her, almost tiredly. “Who you are does not matter here. Would be best to forget about her completely. Who would you like me to show, tonight?”

Arya was still a bit confused. “Sorry dude, you kinda lost me.” 

“Do you want them to see Lyanna Stark? Arya Stark? Do you want to show them your father? Or would a girl like to be someone else entirely?”

Arya’s interest was piqued. “So…like playing a part, or something?” she bobbed eagerly on the balls of her feet. She liked games like these, she liked playing parts. 

“Like putting on a show, little girl,” the stylist’s eyes gleamed a knowing sparkle. “A girl must put on a good show if a girl wants to win.”

“I can put on a show!” Arya bounded next to him, considered the fabrics in front of her. “I wanna…I wanna…” who did she wanna be? She’s pretended to be a lot of people growing up, as a girl she was determined to become a wolf like Nymeria, then she wanted to be like her aunt, then she just wanted to be a warrior. Soon after, she wanted to be something else entirely. Something fantastical, something nobody knew about except for her, until it was too late. Something like a ghost or a shadow. She wanted to be haunting. “Well, I wanna be a lot of things.”

“A girl would have to be very good to be more than one thing. I girl would have to be no one at all,”

Arya’s eyebrows puckered, “I don’t think that makes sense.”

“A girl will be Lyanna Stark tonight. She will make the crowd remember.”

Arya shrugged her agreement. She liked Lyanna. 

“Later, we will see if a girl can become someone else.”

Arya was quite interested in this stylist. He didn’t make sense when he talked, but she liked the music of it. The words rang empty in her ears, but still they echoed, and she listened to their repletion over and over in her head, trying to get to their base, to understand the meaning. Often times she was unsuccessful, but it was the most challenging thing she’s done in the past four years. She wanted to talk to him again, and soon, but first she had to be Lyanna Stark, thrusting her longsword in the air and smiling a dazzling smile. 

The crowd welcomed her undoubtedly, they cheered for her violently. But the most action was happening behind her, where they became sort of frenzied. She wanted to look behind her to check, but knew that wasn’t something Lyanna would do. 

When they were all lined up in front of the Targaryens, she let her eyes wonder, sticking to the 12 tributes. Or, more accurately, just the one. He was dangerous looking, that’s for sure. Setting his Warhammer down and glowering at everyone staring at him. His outfit was ablaze, casting warm lights and shadows across his angular face, lighting up the lightness of his eyes. He was threatening, no doubt about it, handsome, even more so. But he was also out of place, fidgety, with blushing cheeks. He didn’t know what to do with all that he had, Arya had an idea or two. 

When their gazes clashed he remained unsteady. Firm, like a mountain. But there was a rumble to him, an undercurrent that made his jaw clench and his fists tighten. Arya thought of an earthquake, and wondered what it would take to make him split open. Smiling at the thought, she looked to the Royal Family. 

Aegon was giving his speech with animated hands, obviously excited. It was no secret this was his favorite time of year. Behind him stood his children, Rheagar, Viserys, Daenarys. Arya’s gaze clung to Rheagar, just as he was looking away from her. Arya wondered if it bothered him, her playing the role of Lyanna. She hoped it did, she hoped he was very bothered by her.   
It was a secret, big one, about his and Lyanna’s tryst. It was quick, but very serious, ending with the birth of Jon and her entering the Hunger Games. No one really knew Jon was not Ned’s son, let alone Lyanna’s and Rheagar’s. She was too young, at the time, to have children. At 15, she had Jon, and at 18 she was in the Games. 

Ned blamed himself for all that happened to her, it was no secret. If he hadn’t brought her with him to all those visits to the Capitol, maybe she’d never have met Rheagar. Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten herself into so much trouble. But she had, and now Arya was picking up where she left off. 

Ramsey was in a mood back in the hotel room. 

“Never happens,” he grumbled into his food, ruining everyone’s good time. Arya sighed, sat back, and waited for him to finish. “No one ever cares about district 12.”

“They’re obviously going to care this year,” Arya snapped back. Oddly defensive on the subject. “He’s Robert Baratheon’s bloody son.”

“A 12’s a 12, Stark, doesn’t matter who his daddy is,” he snapped back. “No one should care about him.”

“And instead, no one cares about you,” Arya puckered her bottom lip. “So sad.”

Violently, Ramsey stood up, stared at her, “You’re going to regret that, and so will he,” he said before stomping off. 

Olenna Tyrell clapped at his exit, “I love it when I get my own private show,” she smiled into her next bite. 

Ned Stark only stared at her daughter, “You shouldn’t provoke him Arya,”

“But I’m so good at it,” Arya whined. 

“He’s still a threat Arya, he graduated top of his class.”

“Only because he wasn’t in my grade,” Arya retorted, slurping a spoonful of soup.

Ned sighed, rubbing at his temple as he was prone to do. 

Arya rolled her eyes, “Dad, I got it. He’s dangerous. Everyone here is, I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing.” She didn’t’ really, she just sort of followed her gut. Her gut just so happened to be training all for the Hunger Games all its life. Not once, through all those years of training, did he not just simply act on instinct, not matter how many times her father tried to force her to. 

“What’s the plan for training tomorrow?” she asked her father. “Should I act like I don’t know what I’m doing so people don’t think I’m a threat?”

Ned shrugged, “You can probably do whatever you want. Just try not to anger too many people, Arya, you already have enough enemies.” 

Arya did listen to this. She did know it was a high possibility all the districts would team up to kill her off first, especially if she kept pretending to be Lyanna. If there was anything she could in training to discourage that, that’s what she ought to do. The question was, what?

Perhaps she should pretend to be someone else.


	6. Chapter 6

Gendry

“No doubt you’ll take up the Warhammer,” Robert said before taking a deep, gulping, drink from his mug. 

“No, I won’t,” Gendry dug his nail into the smooth, expensive surface of the table they were all seated around. He didn’t know what it was made of, it was colorful and polished and that was about all he needed to know. 

“What else do you plan to do, Gendry?” Melisandre spoke up, her own colorful and polished nails tapping against the table. It gave off a similar sound as her heals did against the floor. 

Gendry sighed, “I don’t got a bloody plan. Don’t see much of a point in making one,” honestly, if he tried to do anything in that training room, he’d feel nothing short of an idiot. He’s never had training, he’s never picked up a proper weapon. He’s used his sister’s bow once or twice, broke it more often, and that was as experienced as he got. Being in a room with those Lannisters, with Arya Stark, he’d only turn himself into a proper fool. 

“You pick up that Warhammer son,” Robert jabbed a finger into Gendry’s direction. “You make yourself known, you assert yourself. Then they got no choice but to take you seriously,”

“Do I want that?” Gendry retorted, looking from Robert to Melisandre. “Isn’t it bad to…show off?”

“You’ve already shown off,” Melisandre returned, tiredly. “That parade made all of the districts acutely aware of you. Now you’ve just got to earn that awareness, otherwise they’ll get even more angry and jealous about the spotlight you took from them.”

“They weren’t all angry,” Arya looked…well she looked at him, and Gendry hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. 

“What about me?” Gilly asked, leaning forward on the table. “What should I do?”

It was silent. 

“Are you good at anything?” Gendry asked. 

Gilly chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I’m…I’m good at fires and such. I can find good food too, in the woods. Usually I’m good at hiding,”

Robert remained unimpressed, Melisandre considered her seriously, and Gendry realized he’d never seen this girl walking around before her name was called, so maybe she was good at hiding. Then again, he was never one to pay much attention to anything outside his own family. 

“Those skills will be a great help out there, Gilly,” Melisandre offered a slight, blood red smile. “Perhaps just try your best to expand your horizons, learn something new.”

“Something new,” Gilly repeated to herself, like it would help her remember. “Okay. Should I ask someone to help me?”

“There will be teachers there to assist you. You’re not really supposed to know anything, remember?” Melisandre’s voice was almost gentle. 

Gendry snorted. 

“You really should stick to yourselves, in my opinion. Talking to the other tributes,” she casted a glance toward a scowling Robert, “…can complicate things.”

“I disagree,” Robert sniffed, swiping his nose with his thumb. “Motivates ya proper, hating all them fucks.”

“You didn’t hate all of them,” Gilly spoke up. Gendry offered her a surprised, but impressed look.

Robert shrugged, “That motivates you too, when they die. Make sure their death was worth something.”

“How do you feel about Arya Stark?” Gilly pushed further. “Does she really look like Lyanna?”

Gendry considered Gilly a bit more seriously. Maybe she wasn’t as clueless as he thought. 

It was very quiet for what seemed to be a long time. “I’ve known that girl since she was little,” Robert started eventually. “Me and her dad…we got on after Lyanna, connected through her, that sort of thing. All that girl knows of her aunt is through stories, reruns on tv, and what her parents tell her. She’s never met her, she’s never experienced her proper.” He cleared his throat, straightened in his chair. “And she grows into Lyanna more and more every day.” 

The first day of training, Gendry didn’t do much outside of standing around. Sometimes he walked, sometimes he sat, but he never felt comfortable going beyond that. He tried not to stare, excluding his hands clasped politely in front of him. He was picking at a hangnail, when someone spoke to him. 

“What sort of you game are you playing?”

Looking up, Gendry recognized the District 4 tribute, hair shaggy and dirty blonde, a trident hiked up on his shoulder. He thought his name was Theon, but couldn’t be sure. 

“…The hunger kind?” Gendry tried. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? 

Theon rolled his eyes, sat next to him, stabbed his trident into the ground. It sang at the action, metal clean and shining. Gendry wondered who made something like that. “Don’t know what you get out of skulking about, everyone knows who you are already.”

“And who am I?” Gendry challenged. 

“Your Robert’s sire,” he answered quickly. “The first legacy from district 12 and all that, you weren’t shy about it at the parade,” his brows pulled together as he looked at Gendry. 

“I’m not Robert’s…sire,” the term was quite uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than “son.”

“Ah,” Theon nodded, “Rebellious type. Angry, grrr, that sort. Alright,” Theon’s head bobbed and his fingers danced on his seat, as though listening to an upbeat tune. All Gendry heard was muttered conversations and grunts of exertion. “We’re lacking in that department this year, I’d say. Not to say no one’s angry, I reckon everyone here is. But not the proper kind, like you’ve got going on over here. Everyone else seems to be a bit more discreet about it,”

“I’m not angry,” Gendry muttered, clenching and unclenching at his uniform. He’s never worn so many clothes like this. He thought after the parade they’d lay off him a bit. Let him be comfortable. Instead, they stuck him in the thinnest material he’s ever worn, took away his sleeves, and slapped a zipper up the middle of his shirt that liked to slip down the second he forget to check it. It was cold like this, and of course everyone could tell he was cold. He’d never been so aware of his nipples. 

“Oh, forgive me,” Theon laughed, “Don’t know where I got that from.”

It was quiet and Gendry had no intentions of filling that silence. He caught sight of Arya Stark. She wasn’t training like you’d expect her to. She wasn’t intricately throwing knives and spears, or violently swinging her sword around. She wasn’t training herself at all, rather helping the younger boy from district 10. With wooden swords, they parried and lunged. Arya laughed and praised when was appropriate, stood behind him and corrected his stance when he needed it. It wasn’t what he was expecting, but he thought it suited her.

“If you like her so much, why don’t you impress her with something?” Theon spoke up. Gendry started, forgetting he was there. “She won’t remember you if you’re just moping around in corners.”

“I thought I already made an impression.”

Theon shrugged, “On the Capitol, sure, now you’ve got to impress us. Or her, more like,”

Gendry squinted at the District 4 boy. “What are you egging me on for? Shouldn’t you be focusing on yourself?”

Theon squinted back, “Shouldn’t you?”

Gendry was about to bite back that was exactly what he was doing when Arya laughed lightly from across the room, distracting him. 

He didn’t know how it happened, but Theon had eventually poked at Gendry enough to make him stand up, trident in hand, facing a target. 

It was a shock at first, the weight of the weapon, but his arm soon conformed to it. Gendry considered the weight, the design, looking at all the work that was put into it. He could understand how it was supposed to be moved that way, by switching it from hand to hand, looking how each corner was attached, the shapes of the spear heads. When he was done and looked back to the target, he was taken aback by the attention he had gained. Everyone was staring, most obvious were Joffrey and Ramsey. Joffrey with a crossbow flung over his lean shoulder, Ramsey with several knives between his knuckles. Experienced killers, and there Gendry was, swinging a trident around like it was a toy. He felt his cheeks redden as he brought his attention back to the target, there was no backing out now. Bringing his elbow back, the weight shifted easily from his bicep the space between his shoulder blades, making it easier to twist his back and swing forward. 

He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, at first. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen. There was a target, a trident at the dead center of it, the handle still vibrating from the impact. That was the only noise in the room, the quiver of the metal. Gendry loved that sound, but not like this, not with the attention entirely on him. 

“Well, isn’t that annoying,” Theon broke the tense silence, stepping up and wrenching the trident from the board. “I’m supposed to be the trident guy,” 

Gendry rubbed the back of his neck, stepping away from the center of the room. He glanced back to the last place he saw Arya, just incase she happened to see what happened. Not that he did that to impress her, he didn’t, but it was how Theon convinced him to try it out. 

She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, her back was turned and she was still helping Mycah with his swordplay. Gendry tried to convince himself he wasn’t disappointed, but didn’t know what else to call that sinking feeling in his chest. Arya didn’t let him dwell for too long, the moment he moved to look away, she glanced behind her shoulder and offered him a smile. 

Arya  
“I can use knives and stuff, you know,” Mycah’s voice was strained, trying to raise his sword over his head. He got tired fifteen minutes ago, but Arya had urged him to keep going. “We use them all the time at home.”

“That’s right, you’re livestock aren’t you?” Arya tapped his elbow so he would straighten it. His arm quivered further, but he didn’t give up, bless him. 

“Uh-huh,” Mycah grunted. “Da lets me help him all the time! With the littler animals he-he, ugh, he lets me-ah!” his arms finally gave out, sword clattering to the ground.

“Good job Mycah! You lasted longer than I did at your age,” Arya lied, bending to pick up the sword. 

Myach’s chest puffed up. “I can go all day with knives. Really, I can. Da wakes me up early and I help him till the last costumer goes home, and sometimes that’s not till the next day!”

Arya’s eyes widened in shock. “Really? Wow, I’m not sure I could do that. How good are you at throwing knives?”

Mycah’s face had gotten quite red throughout their lesson, at this questions his cheeks paled. “Well…we don’t gotta do all that at the shop. One time I dropped my knife and caught it at the handle though,” he was less enthusiastic, and Arya felt bad. 

“Do you want me to teach you to throw knives tomorrow?” she asked, and Mycah brightened a bit. 

“Okay! And I can show you how to cut up an animal proper, get rid of all the bones and all that,” he grinned. 

Arya could do that sleeping, but she smiled anyway. “I’d like that very much Mycah.”

They were interrupted by the arrogant drawl of Joffrey Lannister. He approached them, swinging his hips, crossbow behind his head, causing his back to go all crooked. Arya supposed he thought he looked cool walking around like that, but instead she thought he might tip over any minute. “What’ve we got over here, Stark?” his golden head tilted. “Prepping your lamb for the slaughter?”

“Mycah doesn’t need my help,” Arya punched at the younger boy’s shoulder. Mycah got all shy again, the same as he was when she first approached him. “He’s going to teach me a thing or two about knives tomorrow.”

“Why doesn’t he teach me now?” Joffrey set his crossbow down and held his arms out to the side. It was meant to look intimidating, but Arya suspected his arms were growing tired. 

“Trainings almost done, Joffrey,” Arya’s voice was more serious now, threatening. “We all need a break.”

“I don’t. This is what you’ve been teaching him with?” he snatched the wooden sword out of Arya’s hand, held it up to his face. “Is this what we’re going to be killing each other with out there? I didn’t realize.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “We’re not out there right now Joffrey.”

“But we should pretend to be, shouldn’t we Mycah?” he leered at the younger boy, teeth straight and shining porcelain. Sansa had a crush on him for such a long time. 

“Uhm…” he looked up to Arya, “I guess…”

“See! He wants to train proper. Come on, Mycah, I’ll show you how it’s really done.” 

“Joffrey,” Arya bit out. “Its almost time to go. Leave it.”

“There’s time,” Joffrey shrugged, grabbing two proper swords and tossing it in Mycah’s direction. “Think fast!” Before Mycah had the chance to pick up his sword, Joffrey lunged, catching Mycah right across the cheek. Arya moved just as quickly, using her wooden sword to whack at Joffrey’s sword hand, hearing a crack. 

“Ahh!” Joffrey yelled loudly, dropping his sword and gripping his hand. Mycah stayed silent, pressing a hand to his bloody cheek in shock. “You can’t do that!” Joffrey shouted at Arya, gripping his right hand and falling to his knees. “You’re not supposed to do that! It’s against the rules!”

“Not out there it isn’t,” Arya hissed. People crowded them soon after, mostly for Joffrey’s benefit. He wailed pathetically. No once checked on Mycah, so Arya used the distracted to lead the boy away.

Ned Stark was already giving her the look as soon as she entered their room. Arya whistled. “Word sure travels fast.”

“What the bloody hells are you doing, Arya?” he demanded. 

“Making powerful enemies!” Ramsey answered from behind her. “It was quite entertaining.”

“Fuck off Ramsey,” Arya had reached her threshold with upper district, entitled, assholes for the day. “He was being a dick, dad. He would’ve hurt Mycah just as bad, probably worse. I had to do something.”

“You’re not supposed to hurt each other before the games, you—”

“I know the bloody rules, thank you!” Arya stomped off toward her bedroom. 

“Arya!” he father followed close behind her, “Arya!”

“What! He was going to hurt Mycah! You’d rather I let that happen?! How would you have handled it?” Arya whirled around, shouted right back into her father’s face. He slowly turning red. 

“To start, I wouldn’t have made a target of a vulnerable child. You know better,” his voice was lower, but much, much, angrier. 

So was Arya, but it had an undercurrent of shame she didn’t want to address. Crossing her arms, she looked at the wall to her left instead of her father’s face. “He was struggling, I just wanted to help.”

“That’s very sweet, Arya. And if we were anywhere else, it would’ve been very helpful.”

Her teeth grinded together, and she tapped her foot impatiently. “Well, its done. I did it. The least I can do is take responsibility for it and protect him.”

“For how long?! How long can you protect him? How do you think this will end? You make yourself the priority, not some little boy who doesn’t know what to do. That’s not your problem.”

“How can you say that!” she shouted. “You, who cries over the tributes you lose every year, you’re telling me not to care when I see someone struggling?! I just want to give him a fighting chance—”

“You won’t Arya! He’s already dead, all you’re doing is stretching it out. Wouldn’t it be better to get it done quickly?”

Shameful, angry tears were burning the rims of her eyes and she clenched her fists to distract from them. “You’ve just got it all figured out, don’t you,” she whispered, not sure what she was arguing over anymore. What exactly it was she was fighting for. 

Slowly, Ned Pulled his daughter in to tight, unforgiving hug. Arya hugged him back, just as tightly, letting her tears discreetly sink into his shirt. “I don’t have it figured out,” he whispered into the top of her head. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I never have.” Pulling away slightly, he held Arya’s face between his hands. “So, we need to figure it out, together, okay?”

Arya sniffled, hoping she wasn’t red in the eyes. She didn’t want her dad to see her like that. Mutely, she nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

Gendry  
Gendry replayed their first training session a lot during dinner and as he was supposed to be sleeping. He wasn’t the only one, Gilly was thoroughly impressed.

“She moved so quick!” she gushed to the table. Davos was with them that night, as was Gilly’s stylist. “I saw Joffrey hit that little boy, and the next second he was clutching his hand! I didn’t even see her do it! It was like the wind did it!” she paused to shovel more food into her mouth. “Do you think someone could show me how to do that?”

Gendry had seen it too, and he didn’t catch Arya’s movement either. He wasn’t sure what had truly happened until Joffrey was whining his pretty little head off. He also watched Arya lead the district 10 boy to a medic, sat by his side as salve was applied to his freckled cheek. She looked genuinely worried, abundantly angry. He wondered what she’d be like out in the arena, if she would still care for the little boy or forget about him entirely. Gendry wondered if he would forget about her. He hoped so. 

“Will she get in trouble?” Gendry asked. “We’re not supposed to be fighting each other.”

Robert scoffed. “Pile of horseshit, that is. We get into it every year, what are you they going to do? Kill us? Ha!” he bit into a chicken leg. “Arya knows the rules, she just doesn’t care like a proper victor.”

“I thought you wanted Gendry to win,” Gilly looked to Gendry then to Robert. 

Gilly confused Gendry. She seemed to operate on curiosity alone, not fear, not determination. She approached things with an open mind and took whatever answer they tossed at her, never attaching any emotion to it. Did she realize the position they were in? Was she scared for her life? Or was she just as curious as the outcome as the Capitol was? 

“Be good for 12,” Robert nodded, chewing, chin glistening with grease. “Good for a Baratheon to be back on top—”

“I’m not a Baratheon,” Gendry stabbed at his vegetables. 

“You are if you know what’s good for ya!” Robert shook a chicken leg at Gendry. “That name will get you far son, no doubt about it. You’ll appreciate it once you’re in there, believe in that. Better than whatever name your mother stuck on you…who was she again?”

Gendry clenched a dent into his fork, took a deep breath, and set it down. “That’s none of your business.”

“It isn’t, huh?”

“No,” the tremor in Gendry was rumbling, and he could imagine what it would feel like to crack Roberts neck. It would be difficult, he’d have to put strength into it, but he’d get it done.

“Gendry did good too!” Gilly pressed herself back in, though seemingly unaware of the mood shift. “He impressed everyone with a trident,”

Gendry had nearly forgotten about that, eclipsed by the excitement of Arya Stark. Compared to that, compared to her, his silly trick seemed close to nothing at all. He threw a trident, so what? She moved like the wind. 

“A trident?” Robert frowned. 

“You use tridents?” Davos perked up, looking something close to excited. “Didn’t know they had those in other districts.”

“They don’t,” Gendry tried not to sound so angry, not to Davos at least. Clearing his throat, he attempted to cleanse his voice further. “I-it was Theon’s. He had me try it out,”

“You’ve never used one before?” Gilly blinked at him. “Wow,” she sat back into her chair, looked at her food, as though processing. 

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Gendry muttered. 

“I used to know my way around a trident, back in the day,” Davos said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Wasn’t my strong suit, I’ll grant ya, but it came in handy time to time.”

“Oh shut it Seaworth,” Robert growled. “Everyone knows you hid and smuggled your way through your game,”

Davos held his hands open in surrender, “Whatever works,” he winked at Gendry.

Gendry couldn’t understood what it was about Arya stark that had him so…so…interested, he supposed was the proper word. He knew the simple, factual reasons. She was interesting, anyone would be interested, it was hard not to be. She was born of a deadly family, she was deadly herself, she had eyes the color of a singing blade. There were no reasons to not be interested in her.

But Gendry was never interested in much of anything. Even the most interesting of topics, he was ambivalent. Perpetually bored. Nothings captured his attention as quickly as she had. He’s seen the Games before, he’s watched deadly, dangerous people. He’s seen pretty girls too, kissed one or two. Still…there was something about her that nagged at him. Bothered him. Kept him up. He wished whatever it was would go away before the Games. And if it didn’t, he hoped she’d be the one to kill him. 

The next day at training was obviously tense. You felt it in the air, it pressed deep into your shoulders, making everyone careful with their steps. Joffrey’s hand was wrapped in white gauze and he stomped around the room, obviously looking for Arya. Gendry was too, but less obviously. Problem for both of them, she wasn’t to be found. Neither was Mycah.

Swallowing confusing disappointment, Gendry took to standing around. Theon soon approached. “Tridents my thing,” he said sternly, jutting the blunt end into Gendry’s chest. He didn’t move. “Lets find you something else.”

“Why?” Gendry frowned, trying to figure this tribute.

Theon only shrugged, “Its creepy when you stand around like that. You cast a large shadow,”

Gendry looked at his shadow. No one’s ever said anything about it before. Using the handle of the Trident already resting against his chest, Theon poked him backwards. Gendry shoved it away, but continued walking anyway, it was boring sitting around for six hours, he won’t lie. 

“Should we test out the Warhammer then?” Theon gestured to large hammer resting against the weapons wall. It seemed to spotlighted, lights flickering slightly. Gendry would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knew it would it suit him; he knew it was the proper weapon for him. But it was also the proper weapon for Robert, so he wasn’t supposed to want anything to do with it. He looked away.

“Rather not,”

“Right, daddy issues. Got it,”

“Fuck off,” 

“But not angry at all, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Let’s look at the spears then,”

As expected, Gendry was good with the spears, but it wasn’t made into such a spectacle as the trident was. People minded their own business as they should, and Gendry returned the favor, moving on to the next station. He didn’t prove to be as gifted with throwing knives, finding then oddly light and slippery. He was quickly steered away.

Gendry managed to shake Theon off by boring him through trapmaking. He whined his way through for a little, before scurrying back to throw his trident around. Gendry stuck with the traps, not minding the work, though his fingers were clumsy and his hands were a bit too big for the intricate work. It was far enough away from the action and he sat down to do so his shadow wasn’t so big. He was so caught up in the solitude of it, he hardly noticed the lithe figure landing beside him from what could only be the sky.

“You’ve done this before,” said a silvery smooth voice. Gendry didn’t jump, though he was surprised to have company. He was glad he didn’t when he found Arya Stark cross legged beside him. Her head was resting on her fists and she was staring as his fingers wove through various traps. He immediately halted. She looked at him with steel eyes. “Oh sorry, performance anxiety?”

His throat closed up, panicked. “Didn’t see you there,” he mumbled, trying to pick up where he left off.

Arya leaned forward, getting a closer look at his clumsy fingers. Gendry huffed. “Do you mind?”

Arya was grinning as she leaned back, “So sorry,” she laughed.

He squinted at his work, trying to block her out completely. It would do no good to be aware of her right next to him, to be aware of her aware of him. Watching him. She ignored him when he was waving a trident all over the place, but once he got to braiding and knotting, she couldn’t look away.

“You do this a lot at 12?” she asked.

“Does it look like I do this a lot?”

Arya shrugged, “That’s a pretty advanced trap, not a starter one. Here, you gotta tighten this part,” she tapped a knot next to his thumb, brushing his skin ever so slightly.

“Know a lot about traps, do ya?” Gendry mumbled, embarrassed by the mistake.

“A thing or two,” she smiled. He didn’t smile back.

They delved into silence. Usually, Gendry was good at silence. The best at it, he thought. He was definitely comfortable in it. But with Arya Stark…he felt anxious. Like he was disappointing her, boring her. He didn’t want to do that, but that was all he capable of. He stayed silent.

“You think we’ll do it then?” Arya asked.

Gendry ripped the cordage, sputtering, “What?”

“Fall in love. Relive the glory days, that whole thing,” she blinked, lashes casting shadows over her smooth cheeks.

Gendry shook his head, “Don’t know what you expect me to say to that.”

“Thought it was a pretty straight forward question,” she laughed. “Everyone wants us to.”

“They got all those reruns if they want more of that…Lyanna and Robert shit. Pretty boring a second go round,”

Arya’s head tilted, “You calling me boring?”

Gendry was quickly getting flustered. “No! I’m just—”

“You don’t think we could make it exciting?” Arya pressed, leaning forward.

Gendry leaned back, realizing she had slight freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Just think there will probably be…uhm, better things for us to do.”

“Like what?” Arya deigned confusion as she grinned. “Oh, you mean the killing and surviving and such. Well, that’s a bleak subject to focus on. I think everyone could use a lighthearted side story. Maybe we’d give each other something worth fighting for, wouldn’t that be nice?” her brows were thick and dark, and when she raised one it shifted the planes of her face into something knowing rather than questioning.

Gendry shook his head. “Even if we tried, I doubt it would work.”

“Not if we try really, really hard,” again, she leaned forward, but Gendry forced himself to not retreat this time. He looked back to his broken trap, small and useless in his hands.

“That’s how you want to do this then?” Gendry managed to look back to her metal eyes. “You wanna fall in love with me?”

Arya turned overly thoughtful, pressing a hand to her chin, scrunching her nose. She looked to each of his features, and Gendry could feel it as though she was tracing her fingers across them.

“Nah,” she decided on eventually. “You’re too boring.” 

Arya

It was fun to play with the 12 boy.

He got red quickly and easily and broke things often. He almost seemed unaware of his own strength but utilized it well with the proper weapons. He was shy, in an angry way, so when he got so red so quickly, you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger.

He was also handsome. Very, very handsome. It was easy to stare at him, and the more she did, the redder he got.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” he barked, trying to start a fire. Every time he got into the rhythm of it, he’d look up at her and his hands would stutter.

“I was trying to fall in love with you,” Arya sighed, leaning back on her elbows. “But you keep dropping your stick,”

“Would you stop that,” he mumbled, lining the stick back up.

“Only if you stop being so handsome,”

The stick broke. Arya threw her head back and laughed. “You make it too easy!”

“I don’t make anything easy,” Gendry barely spoke above a rumble around Arya, that is when he wasn’t barking at her.

“Here,” leaning forward, Arya grabbed her own stick and got a fire started in under ten seconds. “In love with me yet?” she grinned at the large, red cheeked boy. They were close now, noses brushing. He smelt something close to fire and something close to shaved wood. His hair was blacker than she thought it was, eyes bluer, skin tanner. He really was beautiful, even more beautiful than Joffrey. Gendry’s chin jerked back.

“I’m gonna go hit something,” he rumbled. His voice came from a place deep in his chest, vibrated out of his mouth. Straightening onto long legs, he left Arya alone with her freshly built fire. Arya rolled her eyes. So touchy.

Considering her surroundings, she caught a glint of red hair above her head. Smiling, she waved discreetly who was hiding in the rafters. She taught him how to climb up there a couple days ago and it’s the first place he goes during training, not coming down until it was time to leave. Often times, Arya joined him, when she wasn’t teasing the 12 boy. She thought she might join him now, wasn’t much else to do. 

An arrow shot into the ground, an inch away from her knee. She managed not to flinch, though it did surprise her. Glancing over, Joffrey was staring at her from behind his behind crossbow a bit of a ways off. Smiling, Arya waved. “Hey!” Yanking the arrow from the ground she wiggled it about, “You drop something?” she watched as Joffrey tried not frown and remain smug. Arya wasn’t totally sure if his goal had been to scare her, or actually hit and had simply missed.

Continue to twirl her new arrow between nimble fingers, Arya took to walking about. She evaluated the different tributes, acted interested in what they were doing. Sometimes she really was, like with the girl from District 1.

Her name never stuck to Arya, but the bony, waif like build of her did. She’d gotten into the habit of referring to her as the Waif inside her head and wasn’t much interested in correcting herself.   
If there was anyone here Arya could convince herself to be worried about, it was the Waif. The way she didn’t stick to anything, the way she seemed to blend in with all that surrounded her, the way she was so easily forgettable, it made Arya anxiously remind herself she was still there. Around any corner, lurking in any shadow, the Waif was there and she wasn’t forgetting about you the way you forgot about her.

She caught firmly onto Arya’s gaze when she caught the district 2 tribute staring. Unwavering, unashamed, Arya stared back, though she was sure the Waif wore a different face a moment ago.

“That’s a curious weapon,” Arya spoke up, referring to the long walking stick the Waif had been waving and flipping about herself. It was beautiful, almost liquid, how she weaved it about her body.

The Waif didn’t answer, only rose a thin brow and kept working the stick.

“Okay,” rolling her eyes, Arya moved on.

She did some stuff on her own, just keep in shape and work out the rust. It was uncomfortable, training in a room of people who may band together to kill you. She didn’t want to reveal her strengths, weaknesses, and wanted to leave them guessing at them. Keep them on their toes and all that. Still, she had to practice, or she wouldn’t be good at much at all.

She shot a few arrows, she sparred some with he combat trainer, threw throwing knives at a target. She didn’t do as well as she could, on purpose. She didn’t push herself, rather exerted just enough effort to remind herself who she was and what she could do if she wanted to. The other Careers didn’t follow their lead, they showed themselves off like they were already in the arena. Joffrey, almost never separated from his crossbow, shot at anything that moved. Ramsey made a show of shooting entire wholes threw his targets using only arrows. Arya felt no need to add to the dramatics.

She found Gendry again, testing his strength with a large, round, leaden weight. His bare, muscular arm flexed and tensed as he tested the weight, doing a few curls before lifting it over his head in experimentation. He’s probably never had to test his limits before and was still trying to find them. Switching arms, he decided to simply throw it across the room, the length it travelled nothing short of impressive. Arya walked away before he noticed her there beside him. For all the times she’d catch him staring at her, he never seemed to notice how close she was half the time.

“A girl is staring,” Jaqen, very carefully and meticulously, cutting through his meat.

Arya worried at her bottom lip, continuing to stare. She had a lot she wanted to ask him, that’s why she scooted all the way to the opposite end of the table where he liked to sit, away from everyone. Olenna kept everyone else busy in conversation.

“I have questions,” Arya said. Jaqen looked up and left a pause for Arya fill with her questions. “I just…don’t really know what they are.”

Nodding, Jaqen took his first bite. He took his time with that too, chin bobbing almost delicately. “A girl still wants to be No One.”

Nodding eagerly, Arya leaned forward. “What do I have to do? I’ll do it, really, just tell me what.”

Jaqen’s head tilted thoughtfully, “A girl has noticed the Waif, hasn’t she?”

Arya blinked, how had he known that’s what Arya called that girl? “Yeah,” she said, tempted to frown. “Why?”

“This girl is No One, not Arya Stark,” he grinned into his next bite.

Her jaw, quite literally, dropped. “She is not, she’s just…she’s just…creepy,”

“A girl is scared of No One,” Jaqen nodded. “As a girl should be.”

Suddenly, Arya didn’t feel like talking to her stylist anymore. Huffing, she crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair. “She is not No One. And even if she was, how did she do it, that’s all I want to know. You can’t tell me that? Why not?”

“A girl is not ready to be No One, she is too many people already.”

Arya frowned her way through dinner, not bothering to touch the rest of her meal. He didn’t even try to make sense, why should she care what he said? He was probably just playing with her, making shit up as he went along. It was stupid of her to get wrapped up in his little game, she needed to focus on her games.

Braiding and unbraiding her hair, she looked to her father for some distraction. “How do you think they’re doing?” she asked. Every time she opened a door, turned a corner, she expected to be met by some sort of family member. She had bookmarks in her head, of things she wanted to talk them about, but she might not ever get the chance.

“They’re worried.” Her father said simply, scribbling things down on a piece of paper. “I think you should use the sword for Evaluations. Nice and simple.”

Arya wasn’t interested in talking about strategy. Her knee took to bobbing up and down impatiently. “K,” she shrugged. “Do you think they’re relieved?”

Ned looked at his daughter incredulously, “What could they possibly be relieved about?”

“Sansa and Jon I mean. They’re too old for the games now, they made it through and stuff.”

His lips turned white as they pressed together. “I doubt that’s what they’re thinking about.”

Again shrugging, she looked up at the ceiling. “It’s better its me and not Sansa,” she mused, mostly to herself, her father just so happened to be listening. “Sansa…she has interests and hobbies outside of the games. Art, sewing. Her life can start now. The Games have always been all I had,” she took another second to think. “What would I have done if I’d never been called? What would the rest of my life looked like? I can’t picture it, I can’t even picture myself past the age of eighteen.”

“Stop,” her father’s voice was strained, as though pained.

“Even if I win,” Arya continued, unaware of her father’s distress. “I’ll be a mentor, I’ll be expected to keep myself up. I’m good at those things. This is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me.” Realizing she was talking out loud, and who she was talking to, she blinked back into looking at her father.

His face was scrunched, pinching harshly at the bridge of his nose, hunched over in his chair.

“Dad?” Arya sat up, reached out a hand to set on the table in front of him. “Dad? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, and after a while Arya didn’t think he was going to. If she hadn’t leaned forward, if she hadn’t been trying so read him, she probably wouldn’t have heard him whisper, “I don’t know what I was supposed to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gendry

Private sessions were fast approaching, and though everyone was adamant he make one, Gendry didn’t have a plan. 

He made his rounds in the training room, no longer requiring Theon to push him into it. Mostly he did it to avoid Arya Stark. He told himself he kept track of where she was in the room only so he’d know where not to go, but two weeks without a single word from her, and he still watched out for her. 

She wasn’t as playful as she had been when training sessions first started. She was never seen with Mycah again, though Mycah was never seen again period. She could go entire training sessions without being spotted once, no matter how hard Gendry looked. When she did bother to join everyone, she only hung around the girl from district one. Arya talked to her determinedly, though the other girl did not seem interested in what she had to say whatsoever. Arya also took to mimicking her movements with what Gendry could only assume was a walking stick. Arya grew competent quickly, but standing right beside the district one girl, you could tell she was not her equal. 

Gendry told himself he didn’t care that Arya had traded bothering him for bothering the other girl. He said that’s what he wanted, after all. For Arya Stark to leave him alone, to stop talking to him about love and handsomeness and his arms, triggering that gleam in her eyes. He told himself he didn’t like a second of it, and it was good she seemed to have forgotten about him completely. Great even. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now he could concentrate on…spears. 

“You two didn’t last very long,” Ramsey Bolton approached Gendry the last training day before private sessions.

Arya was nowhere to be found once again. He’d thought she’d show up for the last day of training.

Gendry frowned at the shorter man, though he grinned up at Gendry. “What?” Gendry thought he was talking about Theon. Him and Ramsey were seen together pretty often now, laughing together, mocking the other districts. Theon hadn’t been quite as mean and entitled when he was around Gendry, but once Ramsey Bolton took him in Theon too forgot about Gendry. That didn’t bother him as much as it did with Arya, he found Theon a little clingy. Not that…not that Arya’s absence bothered Gendry at all.

“Arya Stark,” Ramsey pronounced clearly, taking his time with each vowel and consonant, as though Gendry had never heard the name before.

“I didn’t realize we had ever started,” Gendry grunted. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of talking to Ramsey Bolton, much less with talking to him about Arya Stark.

“What is it that you two talked about in your brief time together? Anything interesting?”

Gendry paused, he was about to let the spear lose. Instead, he stabbed it into the ground. “What do you care?”

Ramsey raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just another fan of Robert and Lyanna, excuse my interest of their continued love story,” his voice was apologetic but his eyes were mocking. 

“Lyanna’s dead. There is no continuation of their love story,” Gendry was sick of saying this, he was sick of talking about them. He was sick of people putting him and Arya together because of their relatives. As though anything they might do or say, was somehow connected in the past or because of people and actions they had nothing to do with. Now, even if they happened to maybe, possibly, like each other one day, it would have nothing to do with them. Not really. It would be the same thing as picking up that Warhammer. Just retelling his father’s story. That was the last thing Gendry wanted to do. And now it seemed Arya Stark was even less interested than he was. 

“I like that 12,” Ramsey clapped a friendly hand onto Gendry’s shoulder. “Who cares about those past tributes and their legacies? Its out time now, time to tell our own stories. Am I right?” 

Even though Gendry agreed with Ramsey words, he wouldn’t vocalize it. There was something else Ramsey was saying, something Gendry didn’t care to look deeper into. “Okay,” he said.

“In fact, once that buzzer goes off, I’ll think I’ll play with the Stark girl myself,” he grinned, looking around as if trying to spot her as well. Gendry took the opportunity to look one more time, but both men came up empty. “Only if you’re not interested, of course, wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” Ramsey’s hand was still on his shoulder, and the way his lips stretched over his teeth made Gendry’s skin crawl.

“Then get away from me,” He barked, shoving his arm away. 

Politely Ramsey stepped away, smile remaining. “Theon said you were angry.”

Gendry was sat next to Gilly, waiting as each district went through their private sessions. He’d just gotten out of a thirty minute long lecture from Robert on using the bloody Warhammer, now he had to wait who knows how long as they went district by district. It was an odd feeling, wanting time to go faster when each second ticked closer and closer to the Hunger Games, but Gendry was at his wit’s end.

He picked at his nails, bobbed his leg up and down, sucked food from his teeth, and still time stood still.

He was able to stare at Arya for a bit, who seemed even less interested in being beside Ramsey Bolton as Gendry had been, but she had left all too soon, dulling the room further with her absence. Gendry laid his head back against the back of his chair and suppressed a tortured grown.

“Will you do the Warhammer then?” Gilly asked, taking it upon herself to keep Gendry entertained.

He turned to her. “I don’t know Gilly. Will you?”

Gilly seemed to think it was funny, the corner of her mouth picking up. “I thought I’d just show them traps or something,” she shrugged. “No one told me to do anything else.”

Gendry shrugged. “Doubt it’ll matter. Don’t think they much care about what twelve does.”

“They’ll care what you do,” Gilly countered.

Gendry flared into a sitting position. “Yeah, I got it.” He huffed, actively trying not to burst at Gilly. It was exhausting, living as he has been. With all the legacies of his father shoved down his throat, nothing made him as angry as that, and people were doing it around every corner. He couldn’t get away, he couldn’t give himself time to calm down. Would the games be only place he’d find some bloody peace?

“Do you miss home?” Gilly asked, sensing the mood shift for once.

Gendry paused. He wasn’t sure if he missed it, the guilt canceled it out. All the food he had, the bed, the service, he wanted to know if there was a way he could send it all back to his family. He couldn’t even finish all the food he had there, nobody could, shouldn’t there be a way he could mail if over? As a sort of death wish?

“I feel bad,” he said. “They…they gotta do it all on their own now,” he paused, then asked, “You?”

Gilly shrugged. “Not really, honestly,” she said bluntly. “Its hard there,” was all she offered for explanation. Gendry took it without out pushing for more, and once again they were pushed into a bout of tense silence.

He was called before Gilly. He was almost out the door when she called out, “Use the Warhammer Gendry!”

It struck him more than his father telling him to do so. It nagged at him during his walk to the training room, even more so as the crowd full of Capitol officials leered down. Petyr Baelish, the Head Gamemaker, stood at the front, his arms crossed and his look already amused.

Gendry cleared his throat, “Uh…Gendry Waters? District, ah, 12,” he casted a look around. The spears and the Warhammer were resting beside one another. Walking over, Gilly’s voice echoed in his head. Use the Warhammer, use the Warhammer… even she knew it was the right weapon for him.

Gendry was determined to ignore it, and stuck a hand out towards the spears, palm hovering…

It swung down to the Warhammer, skin tingling at the contact. The weapon welcomed him immediately, becoming an extension of his arm. There was no hesitation in tossing if from one hand to another, twisting it about, all as he walked to the set of targets. It was almost lazy, the way he swung it across the torso of the dummy. But there was nothing lazy in the way it cut cleanly in half, as though he had used a sword. The top half landed somewhere across the room, and when Gendry swung at the knees next, the pelvis flew in the opposite direction. So much better than a spear, even a trident. This weapon knew him back. 

Arya

She was going to become No One, if it was the last thing she did. It very well might be. Even if it meant sneaking off to meet with her annoying stylist, even if it meant studying the Waif when she wasn’t talking with him. This is what she wanted.

“A girl is still thinking. A man can hear,”

Forcing herself not to huff, she inhaled instead, held it in her chest and stilled. There were lots of lessons such as these, practicing stillness, emptiness. Jaqen said they were really trying to forget, and when Arya asked what they were forgetting, he’d tell her everything. But first she had to still her thoughts, turn them into a stone in the ocean of her mind, he said, and let them sink down. She thought it sounded stupid, but the image was the only thing that aided in her attempts.

It wasn’t just her thoughts she was supposed to turn to stone, it was her breathes too, her heartbeat. It was all to slow and stop until there was nothing left inside of her. If you did it right, your lungs wouldn’t burn and you wouldn’t collapse, you would simply be still.

Arya thought of the biggest rock in the world, bigger than mountains and boulders, too tall to see the top of. It filled her head up, turned it heavy, had it sagging slightly so her throat was elongated. She held it there, feeling the weight of all that she was, before letting it slip down. It fell slowly, like wide pill forcing itself down a dry throat, it scratched and caught, but she only kept swallowing. Slowly, very slowly, she worked it down to a place outside herself and let her neck right itself.

There was only silence after that. Dark and large, there were no echoes and no whispers. There was nothing at all.

“A girl is empty,” said a voice, it bounced off walls she couldn’t see. “A girl must fill her body back up. Who will a girl choose?”

A girl reached out in the emptiness, she grasped and prodded, but there was nothing.

“Push harder,” 

What once felt thinner than air, turned to water. It trickled slowly through her mind in a steady drip. She waited until it built into something deep enough to swim in before reaching out again, swimming down to the bottom. Her boulder sat there, large and overwhelming. She swam around it. Picked up a smaller one and brought it back up to the surface.

“Who are you?”

“Cat,” she answered.

“And who is Cat?”

“Cat is part of the shadows. She is never seen.”

“What does Cat do in the shadows?”

“She listens.”

It was scary the first time she let go of herself successfully. So scary she filled herself back up immediately. It felt like what she imagined death to be like. She came back with frantic breathes and a very upset stomach, a certain sea sickness to her legs. It took an hour for her to calm down, for her heart to settle into a steady pace. Jaqen asked her to try again as soon as she was sitting straight again. 

She practiced on her own in her room, in the ceiling while Mycah watched. She’d gotten quite good at it, actually. One time she had convinced Mycah she was dead.

The Waif was the absolute worst. Arya had begun to miss the days she would willfully ignore Arya as she tried with the stick beside her.

“Who are you?” she demanded often.

It was different than when Jaqen asked her. Quicker, urgent. “Mercy,” Arya said. Their sticks clashed.

She could always tell when Arya was lying, and that’s what Arya was forced to do when she was asked quickly like that. Lie. She didn’t have time to let go of herself like she was supposed to, she simply had to pretend to be somebody else. She also suspected it was a bit unfair, obviously the Waif knew who Arya really was, everybody did. The Waif, on the other hand, was a stupid nobody, which gave her a stupid advantage to their little games. Arya only went to her when it was completely necessary, and only because Jaqen told her she had to.

That was her problem, speed. She had to be able to let go of herself in a second, become someone else even quicker. To do that, she had to walk around empty all the time. She had to almost never be herself. The longer she stayed Arya Stark, the longer it took to let her go. That’s probably why the Waif was so quick, she probably let go of herself a long time ago. Arya wondered if her rock had worn down to nothing or if she still carried it somewhere in her.

It was a decision she had to make. To let go of herself, to keep herself at the bottom of that ocean and never drag her back up again, or to continue as she was. Slow, unpracticed, not to her full potential. Her initial instinct was to remain herself, for her father, for her entire family. She had to be Arya Stark, for them. But then she remembered where she was going and what they’d have to see her do, what they’d have to see happen to her. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if it wasn’t her? If it was no one at all? Just a body, just a shell…

If she was going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be better if she was kept far away? Would it be better to let go now?

Arya made an appearance with other tributes in the waiting room, but once her name was called, she dropped herself.

Cat knew the inner workings of the building like the back of her hand. It was how she managed to move about unseen these past weeks. She knew how to get to the training rooms to Jaqen in under ten minutes, she knew how to get form Jaqen to her rooms in under five. It took almost no time at all to seat herself within the Gamemakers, listened to their conversations, their plans for the games, and stuck them to the back of her head where Arya could find later.

Petyr Baelish checked his watch, “Where is the girl?” he asked. The rest seemed to realize they’d been waiting a while as well and strained over the balcony as though Arya Stark was simply too away to see. They weren’t wrong.

Arya swam back to the surface. “I’ve always wondered what it was like up here,” she said, putting setting her feet up on the table, crossing her arms behind her head. “I feel very official.”

They all gasped, some jumped away from her. Many yelped, few screamed.

“Ms. Stark,” calm and professional, Petyr Baelish stepped forward. “Tributes are not allowed on the balcony.”

Shrugging, Arya picked up an apple before standing. “You could’ve just said that,” she jumped, grabbed onto a ceiling rafter, and disappeared once again.

She didn’t leave, instead she hung around the rafters and watched each tribute to come after her. None surprised her, little entertained her. One impressed her.

“Uh...Gendry Waters? District, ah, 12,”

Arya allowed herself to lean forward, wanting a closer look. Its been a while since she’s teased him, its been a while since she’s done anything fun. Its been a while since she’s been fully Arya Stark. But she was here now, and she was wondering if Gendry Waters was finally going to pick up that Warhammer. 

He didn’t disappoint. Turning that dummy into scattered parts, Arya wondered what else he could do with those arms. 

IT was the first time she saw him looking comfortable inside himself, first time he genuinely looked like he knew what to expect, what he was going to do. First time he seemed to know himself. That same awareness slipped from him the second he set that Warhammer down.


	9. Chapter 9

Arya  
She decided to stay long after Gilly left the training room. She decided to stay, and listen. 

“Shaping up to be a great year,” Said one, hair balding with jowls that swung from side to side. “That 12 boy is shaping up quite nicely, reckon he’ll give 1 and 2 a run for their money. We should let them know, shouldn’t we?”

“A high ranking is in order,” Another nodded in agreement. “It was a better performance than that Lannister gave, I’ll give that to him.”

“We’re not ignoring what that Stark girl pulled I trust?” a shorter, redder, and angrier man said from the opposite corner. “Who knows how long she sat up here, listening to us. That was a blatant disregard of authority and I will not stand for it! She should be killed just like her aunt, she should, they both got it coming to them.”

“That is not your business to decide,” Petyr Baelish spoke up for the first time since their private meeting started.

“Surely, if President Targaryen wanted Lyanna dead, then he’d have no qualms in making similar arrangements with—”

“If that was President Targaryen’s order, it would be long planned out an taken care of by now,” Petyr became clipped, less charming. It was a good thing Cat was the one squatted and listening in the rafters, had it been Arya, she would’ve snapped by now.

“Why Lyanna and not this one? I’d say this girl has more reason to be taken care of than her aunt ever did. Doesn’t make any bloody sense!”

“The President’s business is not your own. Your job is simply to rank them and have done with it.”

“0 then, and I won’t settle for anything more.”

Gendry

It was the most anxious he’s seen the people around him. Watching the television screen, knees bobbing up and down, hands crossed in their laps. Even Robert put his drink down to wait.

They didn’t ask him if he had used the Warhammer or not. They all just assumed he had. Gendry wished he hadn’t, he regretted the whole thing. He regretted discovering what he already knew, how well that weapon would fit into his hand.

“Don’t let the scores bother you too much,” Davos assured Gendry from next to him. “Doesn’t matter much. I got myself a five, and look at me now,”

“Them numbers are what get people to root for you son, don’t listen to nothing different. If they think you don’t got no chance, they won’t bother spending their money on you.”

Gendry was most inclined to listen to Davos. “I thought you said I was guaranteed sponsors because of you,”

Before Robert could answer, Illyrio popped onto their screen.

“Hello, Panem!” he greeted warmly, opening his arms as though inviting the entire nation into a hug. “Now, I know you’ve been itching for some updated news on our exciting new tributes. Don’t let me keep you waiting! Tonight, we’ll get an exclusive look on how the Game makers think this year will go on. On a scale of 1 through 12, these tributes have been ranked, now let’s see where they’ve put your favorites.”

Joffrey was gifted a 10 while they stuck the girl with an 8. Gendry couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the girl had showed yards more skill and talent in one stick movement than anything did with that bloody crossbow.

Gendry leaned forward when it was time hear about District 2. “Ramsey Bolton! That’s a 9 folks, very impressive. Now, Arya Stark!”

The room was quiet, too interested to breathe. Illyrio didn’t hide his surprise when reading the number, “a…2!”

Gendry shook his head out, positive he misheard. The room seemed to share the same doubts, looking to one another for confirmation.

“That…can’t be right,” Melisandre spoke up, tapping her red nails onto her thigh.

“What could she have done to get a 2?” Gilly asked, looking to Gendry for an answer.

“She probably didn’t bother showing up,” Gendry found himself saying. Sure, she was in the waiting room for a bit, but he doubted anyone could make Arya Stark go somewhere she didn’t want to go.

Robert burst out laughing, “You got it son! That’s exactly what happened. Ned’s gonna have her head, I’ll tell you that right now. I wish I could see his face,” he picked up his mug and drank heavily. Melisandre scowled and scooted away.

“Where would she go then?” Davos asked Gendry. The younger man shrugged, a bit exasperated when trying to come up with an answer.

“Seven hells if I know. She’s almost never around anymore, and when she is its only in flashes. If I didn’t know better I’d say she’s a ghost,” he snapped his mouth shut, embarrassed by the amount of words he used and the emotion behind them.

“She used to stay with Mycah, but she hasn’t been lately,” Gilly said. Gendry looked to her.

“Mycah hasn’t been seen since—”

“He’s been up in the ceiling, Arya showed him how to get up there. She used to stay up there with him, now she only does time to time.”

Gendry sat back, arms crossed, oddly miffed Gilly knew more about Arya’s whereabouts than he did.

There was residual chit chat lingered, until it was time for district 12. Then everyone was leaning forward again, Robert’s mug back down on the counter.

“Gendry Baratheon!” Illyrio started, Gendry was already disgusted.

“I’m not a bloody Baratheon,” he said into his lap, barely resisting the urge to pick up the television and throw it across the room.

“12!” Illyrio cheered, overjoyed by the news. The room went quiet, again not sure if they heard right, looking to each other for confirmation. When the information sunk in properly, they turned to Gendry.

“Look at my son!” Robert cheered, then the whole room was full of whoops and congratulations. Gendry had no idea what to do with it, so he just sat there, still fuming from being called a Baratheon.

“They haven’t had a 12 since Tywin Lannister,” Melisandre mused, studying Gendry darkly. Gendry shifted.

“I told you to pick up that Warhammer! And look what happens! You see why you should listen to you old man? Now imagine if you had flung that silly trident around…”

They were too busy praising Gendry to listen to Gilly’s score, but Gendry listened. She had gotten a 4, and he didn’t know if she’d want that known to the room or not. He whispered about it to her later, apologizing for them all only noticing him.

Gilly shrugged, “I did better than Arya Stark. All I can really ask for.”

Instead of training, 12’s team took the tributes aside to prepare them for the interviews coming up. It was a million times worse, in Gendry’s opinion.

They watched hundreds of old videos and interviews from Panem’s favorite tributes. OF course, they started with Robert, which everyone was heavily pressuring Gendry to copy. He was loud and boisterous, he had the crowd laughing more than Illyrio did. But he was also romantic, making references to Lyanna that had the crowd sighing.

They watched all of the Lannister’s. Starting with Tywin, who was a bit tight lipped with an uncomfortably straight back. He stared at the audience as though threatening each of them if they didn’t sponsor him properly. Jaimie was different, much different. Charming where is father was cold, relaxed where his father was stiff. He smiled at the audience as though promising them each of them a treat if they sponsored him properly. Cersei was an odd mixture of the two, smiles warm and pretty but not as easily earned as Jaimie. It made the audience want to earn them. Gendry didn’t know what he was supposed to do with any of that, honestly.

“Is it true Jaime and Cersei are Joffrey’s parents?” Gilly asked.

“You didn’t hear it from us,” Davos answered with a sly wink. Everyone knew Cersei was Joffrey’s mother, though his father’s identity was a bit murky.

Then they watched the Starks. Different from the Lannister’s, they all had similar persona’s and ways of playing the games. They seemed heavily reliant on traditions and patterns. Maybe that was why Lyanna was killed so quickly. That was what Gendry thought, until they watched her interview.

“Look at her,” Robert whispered as she walked onto the stage. “Have you ever seen someone look like that?”

Lyanna wore a silver, silk dress. It hung off of one of her strong shoulders, leaving the other bare but encrusted with various jewels and crystals they had pressed all through out her body in patterns. She revealed just how low they went, crossing her leg as she sat down and showing off the ones decorating her toes. “Hello, Illyrio,” he voice twinkled.

She did look like Arya, Gendry conceded. They had the same hair color, the same build. Their hips moved in the same, confident, pattern. Still, Gendry could immediately spot the differences. Her chin was smoother than Arya’s, softening her features where Arya sharp angles. She floated where Arya…Arya stomped, demanded. Looking at Lyanna Stark, with her flowing dress and celestial skin, she truly looked like Arya’s ghost.

Lyanna’s interview went nothing like her brothers'. She was much more lighthearted, not so heavy. She was much easier to joke with, to laugh with. When it was finished, Robert rewound it two more times, making everyone in the room uncomfortable. 

“Alright then,” Davos clapped, gesturing Gendry to sit across from his at the dinner table. Quickly, Gendry walked towards his stylist and away from his sniffling Mentor. “What each of these people have in common, is they’ve got a personality, Gendry.” Davos started. “There’s something about them that made the different from the rest of the tributes. The Lannisters—”

“They were just pretty, if you ask me.” Gendry grunted.

Davos nodded, “You’re not wrong. Simply being attractive can take you very far. I wouldn’t scoff at it Gendry, I’m afraid you’ll be relying on just like they did,”

Gendry frowned. “What you mean?”

“Why do you think Robert’s love story worked so well,” he gestured to Robert who was watching Lyanna’s interview for the sixth time. Gilly was sat beside him. “If I tried at a deep love story during my games, you think anyone would’ve given a shit? No, because I wasn’t pretty enough. Robert was. The people wanted to see Robert sexualized, they wanted to see him romanticized, and that love story was their outlet. Why? Because he was good looking, and so was Lyanna.”

Gendry was growing progressively uncomfortable, popping each of his knuckles twice over to give him something else to do and think about. “…okay?”

“You’re the one who pointed it out, not me,” Davos raised his hands. “I’m just telling you, if that was the way you wanted to go, it might be your easiest bet. They already see you as the second Robert, they want to love you and they want you to love them back.”

“Well, I don’t. And there’s no one I want to start a love story with anyway, so,” he ended his sentence with a shrug. Davos rose a greying eyebrow.

“You're sure about that, Gendry?”

Gendry twitched, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I won’t lie. I’ve noticed you staring at the Stark girl that first day at the parade. And you got more spirited talking about her than anything else,”

“I-I…” he cleared his throat. “…did not,”

“Would be smart, I won't lie to you. Sponsor wise, anyway. It’s a sure way to get people to root for you, but…” he glanced back at Robert. “Its probably the most dangerous too, especially if you already like her,”

“What?” was Davos telling him to do it or not? This was all already confusing enough.

“Its gotta just be for the cameras Gendry, you can’t really fall for the girl. Cause if you do,” he nodded his head in Robert’s direction, who had just rewound the interview. “That’s what waiting for you,”

Gendry looked at his supposed father, crouched in front of the television, hardly blinking. Gilly was still beside him, only now she was patting his back comfortingly.

Slowly, Gendry turned back to Davos, “What else is there, then?”

Arya

She stayed in that ceiling until they were all gone, and even then, Cat waited until they were halfway to their room before allowing Arya to fill back up again.

Arya didn’t know what to do with herself, where to put all that she was feeling. There was too much to drop down into the ocean. It was too wide, too thick, there was no way she could swallow all of it.

She couldn’t see her father. She couldn’t face him knowing what she knew. Should she tell him? What good what it do him? What good would it do her?

Staring at the front door, she almost opened it a million times, but eventually she abandoned it completely and opted for the room. There she screamed until her throat turned raw and a little bloody. She paced the sides, tugging at her braids until they became undone, hair frazzled and all about her shoulders. Thoughts running rampant, all Arya saw was Aegon Targaryen as they were paraded in front of him, how his thing smile stretched over yellowing teeth. Rheager at his shoulder, chin jutted high. Was he on it with his father? Was it his idea? Arya tried to scream again, but her voice was gone. Strangled air was forced from her throat.

They killed her aunt, they killed her Lyanna, so no one would know about Jon. They killed Jon’s mom. Arya’s Jon. They killed her father’s sister. They turned her family sour and dark and depressed, so no one would know Rheager Targaryen had gotten a district 2 girl pregnant. It was probably obvious, looking back. The way all the districts had worked it out so well, so strategically. That never happened. It wasn’t totally possible, unless there was a bigger, more powerful forced behind it.

What was Arya going to do now?

What was Arya going to do now?

What was Arya supposed to do now? 

She wanted…she wanted to…

She wanted to kill all of them. She wanted them surrounded like Lyanna was. She wanted the torn limb by limb like Lyanna was. She wanted them all to go through it, Aegaon, Rheagar, Petyr, and whoever else was in on it. She had to find out who else was in on it. And she had to kill them, all of them.

She didn’t go back down to watch the rankings. She stayed on that roof and mapped out a plan, then she meditated.

Instead of fishing someone else to fill her up, she held the emptiness. Slowing her heart into something close to nothing, allowing her breathes to grow longer and longer, she allowed her body the hollowness it was craving. The stillness that nothing could touch, move, not if she didn’t want to. It was all up to her.

“Arya!” It was an echo, as though from a world away. She could ignore it if she wanted, and would be like she didn’t hear anything at all. “Arya!” is said again, and something inside her knew it was Ned Stark.

Arya filled back up and turned to her father, “Eddard?” she answered.

“Have you been up here this whole time?” he demanded. “You missed the ranking,”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Really. Your missing it had nothing to do with the fact you got yourself a fucking 2?”

“Like for District 2? That’s so cute,” she turned away, looked out over the numerous buildings and statues, all glittering with thousands of lights. It was hard to look at father, knowing what she did. It was hard to look at anything.

Ned sighed, took a seat next to Arya. “I-I,” huffing in frustration, he started again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much,” he conceded. “Only got you more attention which…which was smart,” he conceded, nodding to his daughter. “Wish you’d only warned me first, is all. I also wished you’d have come back. You’ve been gone a lot lately and I…” abruptly he stopped talking.

Arya turned to him, “And?” she urged.

Sighing, Ned turned to his daughter, “And not everyone is lucky enough to spend this much time with their children before they’re sent into the games. I’d like to…take advantage of that Arya.”

He wanted to spend time with her before she died. Tears sprung to her eyes. “Oh,” she whispered, hesitating, before leaning into his shoulder, resting her cheek against the to of his arm. “Okay,”

Ned let out a breath, wrapped his arm around Arya and pulled her closer. It was a while before he asked. “What did you do in there, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Arya laughed. “I didn’t go in,”

“What?!” Ned jerked, looking down at her.

“Shhh-shh, let’s take advantage of this time together.”

Arya looked down at the different dress Jaqen laid in front of her. Some were flowly, some tight, some long, some incredibly short. Then there was the silver one, Lyanna’s old dress.

“Which will you be?” he asked her.

Her lips twisted to the side. She was never very good at outfits. She wasn’t sure what matched what and which colors were bad together. Sansa could help, Sansa would know exactly what to pick. “I don’t know,” Arya was closed to whining. “Isn’t it your job to pick out the outfit?”

“A girl must decide who she wants a to be and a man will help her become it.”

Arya rolled her eyes, why was he always on? Didn’t he get tired? “I’ll just be me,” she shrugged, she was too tired to come up with someone else.

“And which of these is Arya Stark?”

“Gods,” Arya threw her head back and groaned. "How am I supposed to know?!" Jaqen didn't answer, and when he didn't Arya continued, “Arya Stark doesn’t give two shits about dresses, honestly,”

Jaqen only stared. Arya stared back.

“That one,” Arya pointed.


	10. Chapter 10

Arya

It was…striking.

Sure, they’ve all said it. Her father would make comments on it here and there since she had turned thirteen. And, yeah, she’d believed it. She’d seen it, in her eyes, her hair, her overall build as she grew into the same body. But they had still always been different, Arya had always been herself and Lyanna had always been dead.

Now here she was, standing in her dress, decorated in Lyanna's jewels. Living in her skin, it seemed, and Arya was afraid if she moved it would rip down the center.

She wasn’t sure why she chose Lyanna’s dress until after she put it on. Until after she saw herself as her aunt and was filled with the same betrayal and anger that plagued her since the private sessions. She wanted to remind them, remind everyone, of Lyanna Stark. Before she didn’t much mind that people were looking to Arya as Lyanna’s second chance, her ghost, her whatever. Now that’s all Arya wanted to be, she wanted everyone to know she was there to defend her aunt, to give her justice. To give her peace.

She wanted them to know she was coming for them.

Jaqen was staring at her, hand to his chin. Arya shifted from foot to foot.

“A girl is not Lyanna Stark yet,” he said.

Arya huffed, straightening her back and pursing her lips. “I’m Lyanna enough,” she mumbled. “For them, anyway,”

Jaqen shrugged walked up and fixed something in her hair. “If that who you are trying to convince,”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Not everything has to be so serious, you know,”

“You are right, these are games we are playing, after all,”

He was always so annoying. She slapped his hands away, “Its fine, I look like her, they get it. I should be getting out there,”

Jaqen seemed to be just as frustrated with her as she was with him, “Does a girl have a plan?”

“Does a stylist honestly give a shit?” it took great restraint to not shoulder check him as she walked out, and she only held herself back because of the numerous glittering diamonds stuck to her skin.

They had stuck Ramsey in a simple suit, and he did not seem happy about it at all. Fidgeting with the sleeves, unbuttoning his shirt down the to middle of his chest. Arya watched with her lip curled, was he trying to look sexy?

“Could I borrow a few of those diamonds?” he asked, looking at his bare chest. Arya felt like gagging.

“I’m afraid I’m using all of them,” Arya answered, unable to hide her disgust.

“My stylist doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s doing. Who’s going to remember me in this?” with a huff, he ripped the sleeves off his suit, exposing his bare arms. Arya rolled her eyes. “That’s better,” he grinned. Arya switched her attention to the ceiling. Joffrey was currently being interviewed, and all he was talking about was who he was most excited to kill. Arya was at the top of the list, obviously, little Mycah not far after. Arya wondered how well that would sit with the audience, if it made him that likeable. But why wouldn’t it? Was that not the whole point of this?

Shuffling towards the end of the line of tributes waiting for their interviews caught Arya’s eye, and soon after she was staring at Gendry Waters, decorated in designs of fire. His suit was black, orange jewels encrusted on his sleeves and the bottom of his trousers. His button up was red, and it looked as though they applied some red eyeliner to his eyes.

He was easy to spot, being the tallest one and everything. He quickly caught her staring and stiffened when their gazes clashed. Readily, Arya offered a smile and waved. He only turned to lean his back to the wall, staring at his shoes. She supposed this was how she was going to remember him, jeweled in flames with cheeks as red as his eyeliner. That’s what she hoped, anyway, she hoped nothing in the games would replace that image. It was sort of naïve to believe that, she knew, but it was also innocent enough she didn’t feel guilty believing it.

Sighing, Arya kicked herself off the wall and decided to walk around. She wasn’t surprised to find herself facing the district 12 tributes. Instead of focusing all her attention on Gendry, as she was tempted to do, she turned to Gilly. Her small frame was dwarfed in red, orange, and yellow tool flames. They ate up her neck and did a great job of hiding her face, helped with the heavy dose of black eyeliner they packed onto her.

“Gilly?” Arya laughed, “Are you in there somewhere?”

Gilly tilted her head to look at Arya passed a tuft of tool. “You’re talking to me?”

“Do you want some help in there? No one will be able to see you,”

Gilly casted an anxious look in Gendry’s direction, “I don’t…are we allowed to touch our outfits?”

Arya snorted, “What do you think they’ll do? Kill you? Here, I won’t do anything crazy,” reaching out, Arya twisted the shapes so that they lead behind her head instead of in front of it. “There you are! You have such pretty eyes,”

Gilly blinked and held a hand to them as though that would help her see them herself, “Really? Why?”

“Oh, well,” Arya took a closer look, it was kind of a reflex compliment, though it was true. “They’re big! Doe like,”

Gilly seemed to take this compliment very seriously, smiling with all her teeth. “You have big eyes too,” she said.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” Gendry grunted, nodding his head to the front of the line.

Arya glanced up, seeing the Waif on stage who seemed to be only nodding along while Illyrio was talking. “I’ve got another 4 minutes or so, and Ramsey keeps tearing off his clothes,” she didn’t check to see if the other District 2 tribute was still at it.

“You look dashing, Gendry, if you don’t mind me saying,”

He didn’t answer, but his cheeks did, as always. Arya took a step closer. “Don’t worry, I won’t try and fall in love with you anymore, I see now that we’d never work. I could never be with someone who wore red eye liner. I hope we can still be friends,” she held a hand out for a friendly handshake.

Gendry hesitated, looked down, then accepted her. “You’re wearing her dress?” he said.

Arya’s brow rose, “Oh, recognize it do you? Someone’s been studying,” Gendry didn’t respond, only looked. Arya sighed.

“Lyanna was a favorite, you know. And people don’t want to see her die twice.”

“Strategy,” Gilly said. “That’s what they keep telling us, or Gendry. They tried to make him wear Robert’s outfit but he said no,”

Arya hummed as she looked Gendry up and down, “That’s a good choice. Robert already won his games.”

“They wouldn’t want him to win again?” Gilly asked.

“Not if he’s still alive. Lyanna? Dead as a door nail, someone’s gotta bring her back. But that’s just my opinion. What about you, Gilly? What do you think?”

Gilly seemed surprised by the question, blinking to make sure it was truly directed at her. “I…well I always thought…well, it’s kind of useless to try and separate yourselves from Lyanna and Robert? Isn’t it? They’re going to compare you to them no matter how different you are so…well it’s a tv show, so…I mean why not give them what they want?”

Ramsey’s name was called, letting Arya know she was up next. She smiled at Gilly, then up to Gendry. “She’s got a point, Gendry. Why not just give them what them what they want?”

The cheers were deafening as she was walking to her seat. Even as Illyrio took her hand and sat her down, it was an effort to get them to settle down.

Arya turned to the crowd with a relaxed smile, but it tensed upon seeing the middle row. Her family was tucked there, right where the lights were at their dimmest so that maybe Arya wouldn’t see them. But she did, all sat beside each other. Rickon next to their mother, Sansa on the other side, Robb between her and Jon. Bran sat next to Jon, leaning forward so maybe they’d hold eye contact. She hadn’t fully realized until then how much she truly missed them. All of them. How much she wanted to come back to them. Jon’s pointer finger came up in a secret wave and Arya was in danger of crying. She looked away and tried to swallow herself, but she wouldn’t go down. She should’ve let go before she came on stage.

“I have to admit,” Illyrio began, “I was taken back many years when I saw you walk out. You are the spitting image of Lyanna,”

Arya tilted her head to the side and pretended she wasn’t the closest she’s been to her family for the last two months and as close as she was likely to get the rest of her life. “You know,” she crossed her legs, letting her thigh slip through the high slit in her dress, revealing all the diamonds lining the length of her skin. “No one’s ever told me that before, Illyrio,”

The room laughed and Illyrio slapped his knee. “Speaking of look a likes, tell me Arya, what do you think of the district 12 boy, what was his name?”

Arya’s smile turned mischievous, “Gendry, I believe,”

“That’s right! Gendry, and what do we think of this Gendry. Hmm? Has he made any impressions so far?”

“Well,” Arya leaned forward, looked side to side as though to make sure they were alone. Illyrio took the hint to lean forward also. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Oh, Arya, I promise, anything said in this room stays between you and I,” he turned to the audience and winked. Again, everyone laughed.

“Alright Illyrio, I trust you.” In an exaggerated whisper, Arya said, “He’s got very nice arms, doesn’t he?”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed!” Illyrio responded, “But what about his eyes?”

Arya nodded eagerly, “With his hair? And he’s so tall!”

“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Arya Stark has a bit of a crush!” he exclaimed the last part. The crowd awed and Arya made sure to look shy, covering her mouth with a freshly manicured hand.

“Can you ask him about me? But don’t make it too obvious, I’ve been trying to play it cool you know.”

Illyrio threw his head back and laughed along with the rest of the audience. “Arya Stark everybody, playing it cool!”

It again took a little bit for the audience to calm down, and Arya took that time to look back to her family. Sansa was nodding in approval, Catelynn holding her hand for comfort. Jon was giving her a thumbs up. Arya couldn’t believe how much she wanted to talk to them, how much she ached for them.

“But, come now, Arya, tell me,” Illyrio adopted his serious tone, taking Arya’s hand and pressing it between both of his. “Tell me,” he said again, “We have all been wondering why you volunteered for your sister, Sansa. Have you been in her shadow all this time? Was she the favorite? Is this your chance to prove yourself as the best in your family?"

The room was quiet now, waiting for Arya’s response. Arya could hardly believe her ears, blinking at the heavily decorated man sitting in front of her. Was that really the only reason they could conjure up? “Maybe I just love my sister,” she answered, some of her disgust evident in her voice.

She could feel the air tense around her, people taken aback, sitting guiltily in their chairs. And they didn’t come here to feel guilty, they came to be entertained.

“Of course!” Illyrio recovered quickly enough. “Of course you do, Arya! So like your aunt Lyanna, who loved so many,” something glinted in Illyrio’s eye that had Arya question his meaning.

Gendry

Gendry tried to pay attention to Gilly’s interview, knowing he owed it to her, but there was no moving past Arya’s. Similar to how Robert rewound Lyanna’s interview until the television started smoking, Gendry’s mind wouldn’t let go of it. Why it wouldn’t let go…Gendry wasn’t totally sure. It may have been the leg that poked out of her dress, shimmering in diamonds. How she flipped her hair over a bare shoulder, those moments were marked and saved for later.

Was it the way she talked about him? It wasn’t anything she hasn’t already said to Gendry’s face, but that was to Gendry’s face, that was to make him uncomfortable. She said that to…to the whole bloody world, and for what? To make him uncomfortable again? To make herself look better? To…to…well, how would that make him look? It all depended on what he was going to say next. If he would play her game and give the people what they wanted. To give in and fall in love with Arya Stark. He could do it. He could do it easily, and that was the problem.

It was the easiest solution. To walk out there, gush about Arya Stark, and convince the Capitol he was falling in love with the district 2 girl. They would encourage them, of course. The would smash their names together and come out with merchandise. They would help the both of them in the games, send them food and gifts and whatever else it was they needed. It would be easy. It would be easy to fall in love with Arya Stark, and that’s why he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t be like his father. Watching her interview until the sun went down and came back up again. He couldn’t get that far, and he suspected he couldn’t pretend either. Whether he liked it or not he already…well, he already liked Arya. He liked the steel in her eyes and curve of her mouth and the way she broke Joffrey’s wrist with a flick of her own. He liked the way she just shamed all of Panem unapologetically, without a second thought. He liked how she helped Mycah and made Gilly feel heard. He liked how kind she really was, how different she was from the other careers. He liked how Arya she was, even with everything pressuring her to turn into someone else.

If he played that game, that Arya game, for even a second. He would lose. Even if he won the Hunger Games, even if he didn’t, he would lose. He would be sat in front of a television, watching that interview, and still be wondering what he was supposed to say. He couldn’t play, so what should he do?

Davos gave him many options. He told Gendry he could be vicious and blood thirsty, but Ramsey seemed to have claimed that title already. He could be charming, flirt with the crowd rather than just Arya. The problem was he didn’t even know how to flirt with Arya when given the opportunity, and Arya had given him many. An entire room of people? It made his head go dizzy. He could be militaristic, like Tywin Lannister, or the more laid back easy going version of Eddard Stark. Sit there, straight backed and sure of himself. If he had confidence in himself, so would the Capitol. So would sponsors.I t was the track he’d been planning to go down before Arya jumbled his brain with her interview. It was inevitable Illyrio was going to ask Gendry about Arya, so what was he to say?

“Alright everybody, lets welcome Gendry Baratheon onto the stage!”

Gendry’s fist reflexively clenched. He’d told Davos to make them stop calling him that. He forced himself to relax walking onto the stage, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The violence of it deafened the crowd, which Gendry was thankful for. He oddly couldn’t feel his feet as the walked to the chair, but managed not to trip before he sat down, knees stiff and a bit shaky.

“It’s Waters, actually,” Gendry said when it was quiet again. He wouldn’t tolerate being called a Baratheon for the rest of his life. However short it may be.

“Oh?” Illyrio’s brows rose. “Was that your mother’s name?”

Gendry nodded, “We—We all took our mothers’ name,”

“All? You mean to tell us you have siblings?”

“Uh…I guess,” for some reason, the audience thought this was funny and they had to wait for the laughter to die before continuing.

“And how many do you have, Gendry?” Illyrio leaned back in his chair, relaxed.

“Uhh…I uh, we-we don’t know for sure. Some stay with their mothers, but I live with two sisters and a brother,”

Illyrio let out a low whistle, “Well Robert’s been busy, hasn’t he!” he said to the crowd and they cheered happily in response. It took everything in Gendry not to frown, didn’t they know the damage Robert was causing, didn’t they care? Didn’t they see it was their fault?

“And tell me Gendry, are they older, younger…?”

“Mia’s older…the rest are…they’re younger,” Gendry hadn’t planned on talking about his family and had a horrible feeling that he shouldn’t. That he was putting them in danger.

“They must miss you terribly. I assume they relied on you for a lot, didn’t they?”

It struck Gendry how differently Illyrio talked to Gendry about his family than how he talked to Arya. With Arya it was all about glory and proving herself, with Gendry it was about survival and dependency. Gendry was allowed to love and care for his family, where it wasn’t even an option for Arya. “Uh…yeah, yes. I mean,” he cleared his throat, wanting to talk about something else desperately. He didn’t want these people knowing about his family, checking in on them. He wanted them out of this completely.

“What did they say? Before saying goodbye, what did they say to you?”

Gendry blinked. Mia had told him he could win, Edric was holding back tears as he held a sobbing Bella. That all seemed to so long ago. It was as if his siblings were from another life entirely. “They just…just hugged me,”

The crowd broke into heart breaking awes. If they thought it was so sad, why were they making him do this? Gendry shifted in his seat.

“Would you look at that, Gendry Waters is embarrassed. How wonderful, lets make it worse, shall we?” the crowd cheered in agreement. “Gendry,” Illyrio leaned forward, “I have it on good authority, you’ve got a secret admirer,”

Gendry felt his neck and cheeks heat up before Illyrio was finished with his sentence.

“Look at him blush, everyone! A Baratheon blushing, can you believe it?! Gendry, you know who it is, don’t you?”

He shrugged and the crowd ate it up.

“Oh, come now, we’re all friends here. What do you think of Arya Stark?”

This was his hell. “She…she’s very nice,”

For once the room was dead silent, it gave Gendry space to breathe. Not for long, in the next second the stadium was filled with the most riotous laughter Gendry had ever heard. Illyrio threw his head back, slapped his leg, and pointed at Gendry all at once. Gendry looked around, shocked and unsure on what to do next.

“You heard it here, folks. Arya Stark is very nice!” the laughter hadn’t even stopped before it started up again. Gendry didn’t understand why this was so funny, what did they expect him to say?

“Oh, oh,” Illyrio settled down, wiping tears from his water line. “Give it up for Gendry Waters, everyone! He’s certainly given us a lot to think about!”

Gendry shook Illyrio’s hand and offered a tense wave to the crowd before making his way out as quick as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it longer because I know a lot of you are getting anxious for some actual Hunger Games action!
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, I created a playlist for both Arya and Gendry to help inspire me. They don't go with any specific chapters or are in any specific order, just some songs that remind me of my version of the characters and the story.  
> Arya's playlist   
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0jOArW9dWGuWuVOqMC4qLD?si=uJ9cdiNYSV6yWINzu43Ovg  
> Gendry's playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jNHJsmaibCeNLO91KI94i?si=VwVlwUvzSDyU0IVwlmf8bA

Arya  
She sat with her dad for the last time. Both had given up on the idea of sleep, and decided to stay next to each other in her final hours.

They weren’t touching, just sitting side by side, looking over the city. It was just as awake as they were, though for different reasons. Pictures of different tributes were being hung and displayed over any building big enough to make an impact, and people gathered around and cheered for each photo.

She could tell her father was itching to spew out more advice, direction, strategy for her to follow, but didn’t want to soil their final moments. He kept fidgeting, picking at his clothes, opening and closing his mouth, rubbing that tired spot between his eyes. He didn’t know what to do, maybe he never did.

“It was nice to see them,” Arya broke the silence. “Did you get to talk to them?” she asked, wishing she had been able to. It couldn’t have been that big a deal, to have a final word with her family. They were already in the same room, they had already come all the way here. Couldn’t she give Jon a hug?

Ned Stark cleared his throat, “A bit, not much. They believe in you Arya,” he said confidently, it seemed to be the one thing he was sure of.

“Jon’s letting his hair grow out again, tell Sansa to cut it, will you?” she laughed. “He was basically blocking out the entire sixth row,”

“Speaking of Jon…he, well, I was going to just give it to Jaqen tomorrow, but…here,” something silver glinted in her father’s hand, Arya caught only a vague look at it before he pressed it into hers. Opening her palm she saw a metal pin, the head of a wolf engraved in the center. The wolf had a scar over its eye, marking it as her Nymeria. The wolf she couldn’t bring herself to kill. “He had one made for Ghost too,” Her dad said. “He wants you to know he’ll be wearing it,”

She clutched the pin her palm, sure she was drawing blood, but didn’t loosen her grip. She had so much to say, to her dad, to Jon, to all her family, but there wasn’t enough time. What could fit in two more hours? Everything inside her felt too big, too big for her body.

“Are you going home?” looking up to her dad, she found him already watching her. “…after?”

Eddard nodded, mouth pressed white.

A smile cracked into Arya’s mouth, “Dad, go ahead. Say what you want to say,”

“Be smart Arya, please. Try and stay levelheaded, let yourself think,” he took a breath as though he could finally breathe. “Don’t just act, plan, be smart,” he took to rubbing the spot between his eyes one more time. “Its up to you if you want to fight for supplies, but do it for the supplies, don’t just do it for the fight. And be careful…what happened to Lyanna…its not totally off the table for you,”

The skin in Arya throat turned thick and dry. She wanted to tell her father the truth, he deserved to know what happened to his sister. He deserved to know who really did it, who really caused him all this pain and guilt. She wanted to remove the burden from his tired shoulders, but what would it do ultimately? He wouldn’t be relieved, if anything he’d be even more paranoid. Always looking over his shoulder, thinking before he spoke. She didn’t want to do that to him, but would it be better than where he was now?

“Dad?” Arya realized she whispered and didn’t know if she could speak any louder if she tried. Ned leaned in to hear better. It was at the tip of her tongue, the truth of Lyanna Stark. The murder of Lyanna Stark. All she had to do was whisper. “Dad…is…I…is there anyway I can convince you not to watch?”

His chin jutted back into his neck, as though slapped. “What?”

“Any of you, I don’t want you to watch,” still, Arya had trouble strengthening her voice. “I don’t want you to see…” here her voice strangled into nothing. She cleared her throat, straightening her back. “Dad, you can’t watch what happens to me in there. Whatever that may be,”

He shook his head, not answering, just looking back over the city.

Arya struggled with wanting to shake him. “Daddy, please. I don’t want you to see who I become in there,” there were tears in her voice, so she lowered it back to a whisper.

Ned Stark’s grey eyes flicked back to his daughter, and in a breath he was holding her on his lip like she was six again. She fit the same, though she was bigger. Her head was still tucked under his chin and her hands still gripped the fabric of his shirt into wrinkled balls. Her hair smelt the same, though there were no forests or trees to escape to, she carried the smell with her everywhere. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were back in that time. Before reaping and volunteering, but the same crippling fear.

“I’m going to watch,” he said into the top of her head. “But I won’t forget who you are, Arya. And you won’t either,”

Arya swallowed a hiccup. She was planning to forget herself the second the sun came up.

Jaqen tucked her into some sturdy, dark green pants, leather boots, and a thin waterproof jacket. She tested herself through the fabrics and found the stiffness of the pants easily worked through and the jacket made swishy sounds through each movement. That would be a problem. Her hair was pleated into two French braids, both just reaching her shoulders. She supposed he wanted to make her look young, directly opposing the revealing ensemble she wore to the interviews. Arya didn’t much care, the look wouldn’t stay fresh for long.

“A girl brought a present?” Jaqen raised a brow, looking at the pin Arya had yet to let go of.

She frowned, “Not for you,”

Jaqen nodded, opened his palm. Instead of handing it over, she clutched the pin to her chest. “I can keep it, I’m allowed one item from home.”

Jaqen rolled his eyes, plucking the pin from her fingers with a swiftness she didn’t know he was capable of, and pinning it to her jacket with slim and nimble fingers. She stared and wished she could talk to Jon. Even if it was just a hello. Even if it was just a goodbye.

Would she really never talk to him again? How was that possible?

Would she not watch Rickon grow up? What would he and Bran look like as men? Didn’t she have a right to know?

Would Robb fall in love? With who? Would he have kids? Would Sansa? What sort of mother would Sansa be? Would she be just like Catelyn? What was Catelyn thinking now? Was she proud of Arya, did she think she was playing the games right? Or was she only relieved the good daughter wasn’t the one in the games?

There were no answers to her questions, because she wouldn’t be there to answer them.

“A girl is still Arya Stark. A girl is running out of time,”

Arya shook her head, lips quivering. “I’m not ready to forget,”

Jaqen sighed, as though deeply inconvenienced. “A girl has learned much for nothing,”

Her eyes were burning, there was a knot in her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to knock her stylist’s head against the metal wall. “I have been training for this all my life you know! Arya Stark has been training for this all her life! What makes you think she can’t win this?!”

Jaqen looked her up and down and looked at her as though her outfit was too tight, and she was wearing clashing patterns. “Arya Stark is a mess,” he said simply.

She slapped him before she could think about it, the sound echoed off the walls. “Fuck you,” she hissed, turning and stepping into the glass cylinder, head held high. “I can do this,”

Jaqen didn’t seem too hurt, though there was an angry red handprint burned into his cheek. Calmly, he stepped up to the glass cylinder as the door slipped shut, sealing her inside. Panic gripped her chest, but Arya pretended she could still breathe. He nodded to her in farewell, “A girl will know what to do. A man knows this,” he smiled.

Gendry

Actively, he avoided Robert. He didn’t feel the need to stay goodbye to him. Or say anything at all. He’s already said more to the man than he ever expected or wanted. He would’ve liked to see Mia, even if they didn’t have much to say to each other. He realized then it wasn’t that they didn’t have anything to talk about, they simply didn’t need words. They understood each other perfectly, what the other needed, what the other was thinking. He could use that simplicity right about now, that steadiness they held together.

He was glad Edric and Bella weren’t there, though he wished for a picture of them to keep with him. He wanted to see them without distressing them, without seeing how sad and worried they’d be.

He was sitting with Gilly and she was teaching him a card game. She wasn’t a very strict teacher, in fact he thinks she gave up teaching him a long time ago and they were sort of making up there own game. There were no rules and Gilly was collecting cards with red hearts and diamonds, while Gendry was trying to hide the three he had.

He was the calmest he’s been since his name was called. Things seemed still, people weren't poking at him, pushing strategy on him. Robert wasn't praising his every move. It was just him and Gilly throwing cards around chaotically. It’s the most he’s been able to breathe.

“I like your brother,” Gilly said, finding his last red heart. She took the cards and started shuffling them again. He sat back and watched. “Him and my little sister are friends at school,”

Gendry didn’t know Gilly had a sister, he didn’t know much about her at all. He tried to ask, from time to time, but she didn’t seem to like to talk about it.

“You have a sister?” Gendry decided to take her lead, grabbing at random cards when she seemed to be finished with them.

Gilly nodded, “Seven,”

Gendry blinked, “What?”

“I’ve got seven sisters,”

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the subject, so he dropped it, though it was the most interested he’s been in Gilly since they were paired up.

“I’m not going back,” she said after some time, Gendry immediately knew what she was talking about.

“Aw…don’t…don’t say that…” he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t want to go back,” Gilly elaborated. “It’s okay, I’m glad to get away for a while. I’m glad,” she looked around, “I’m glad I got to experience all this. And I’m glad I got to make a friend,” she smiled at Gendry. “I think you will, though. Even though you don’t want to hear it, I think you’ll go back,”

Gendry shifted. They were sitting on the floor, Gilly’s legs tucked under her and Gendry’s crossed. He wanted to straighten his legs out, but he’d be invading Gilly’s space and his legs were too long to do much else.

“Just…” Gilly straightened some of her cards, “When you do, can you help them? My sisters, I mean.” She was focused on her cards but she snuck glances up at Gendry, as though nervous on what he was going to say.

Gendry was nervous on what he was going to say, too. He didn’t think he was going back, but he didn’t think Gilly was either. What was the harm in telling her what she wanted to hear? She said it herself, it was the best way to go about things. “Alright,” he said.

They played silently for a while longer before she spoke up again, “Arya will probably win though,” she said impishly. “Especially with the way you look at her,”

“Not you too, Gilly,” Gendry sighed, “Please,”

She shrugged, slapping cards down. Gendry didn’t know what for, but he slapped some down too. “I’m just saying,” she giggled.

“How’s it fit?” Davos asked, shortened hand to his chin.

Gendry twisted his torso around a bit, raised his hands over his head. “Fine,” he concluded. “Jacket’s a little…loud,”

“Don’t think they had your best interests in mind when choosing the outfit,” Davos’ mouth twisted to a half grin. “Sorry,”

Gendry shrugged.

“Well, son,” Davos clapped a hand to Gendry’s shoulder. “There anything you want to talk about? What’s on your mind?”

Gendry searched his head, finding he oddly didn’t want to Davos down with the emptiness of it. “I’m…I’m oddly calm,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t be, but…” again, he shrugged.

“You’ve got a plan? Are you heading straight in for the supplies, or…?”

“Robert says I should…what do you think?”

“Well, during my games I stayed under the radar the whole time. Never been much of a fighter, as may have guessed by my battle wounds. I was just lucky, I think. They had us out on a beach and I knew my way around a beach. Spent my time stealing and poaching from the other tributes,”

The corner of Gendry’s mouth tightened in doubt, “I don’t think I’m very…sneaky,” he said. “Especially in this jacket.”

Davos shrugged, “Can only talk about my own experience son. Maybe it would be better for you dive right in, Robert is your mentor after all, does know a thing or two. You don’t seem to like listening to him though,”

Gendry managed not to shrug, though it was difficult.

“Don’t dismiss everything the old stag tells you boy. He’s an old drunk and obnoxious at that, but you two have got similar skills whether you like it or not, and he knew how to use them to win the games. Just try and pick out the good advice from the bad, easier said than done , I know, but couldn’t hurt to try,”

“I think…it could,” under these circumstances, everything could hurt to try.

Davos laughs, pats Gendry’s shoulder. A voice calls over the intercom, telling Gendry it was time to step onto the platform. He took a deep breath, held it, stepped into the glass cylinder. It wasn’t until the glass sealed and Davos waved goodbye that hot panicked gripped his stomach, twisted it upside down.

As he was raised, the first thing he saw was the sun, beating hot and steady on his forehead. He tried to squint passed it, watching the light glint harshly off the metal Cornucopia all the tributes were standing around. He focused on it, saw all the backpacks laid about, the food, the weapons. There was a Warhammer, set right in the center of the opening. If he wanted it, he’d have to get deep in the middle of things. Facing all the careers, Ramsey, Joffrey, Theon…Arya… was it better to get it out of the way?

The countdown was 15 seconds in, and he started to look around to the people surrounding him. Gilly was about three people down, standing pin straight, twisting her hands in front of her. Should Gendry head straight to her? Should they stick together for as long as they could? Or would that only hurt more in the long run? He didn’t want to be the one to kill her, but he also didn’t want to watch her die. He wanted to remember her sat across from him, collecting cards with red hearts.

Beside her was Mycah, the boy Arya was training that first week. He was obviously panicked, breathes coming in panicked and heavy, face just as red as his hair. Gendry couldn’t stand to look at the boy, turning to the opposite side of the circle.

He saw Arya straight away. She was sat, cross legged on the metal platform, leaning back on her hands. She looked as calm as a person got, flipping a braid over her should, the sun illuminating her silhouette. She really was…something.

In that second Gendry was gripped in a panic that what happened to Lyanna would happen to Arya. No one had approached him with plans of an alliance to take the Stark out as soon as the buzzer when off, but no one had approached Robert either. He’d spent the first thirty minutes desperately hacking through tributes in an effort to get to Lyanna. To save her. By the time he got to her, she was split into four pieces.

What would Gendry do if that was coming in the next thirty seconds? Would he try to get to her? Would he try to save her? For what? No, he wouldn’t. He’d use the distraction to grab his Warhammer, maybe even take Gilly’s elbow, and get the hell out of there.

He said this to himself firmly, but sneaking one last glance at the Stark girl, he knew it wasn’t true. He knew he’d do whatever he could to get to her in time.

The last fifteen seconds rang in his ear and he found his gaze stuck firmly to the Warhammer. He could see himself running to it, picking it up. Once it was in his hands he’d like to see someone try and come at him…he’d like to see them try and…

Five more seconds, he looked at Gilly, she was shuffling to back of the circle, eyes wide.

Two more, Arya still hasn’t stood up.

The Gong sounded; Gendry bounded off the pedestal.

Arya

She watched for a second. Sat there, she evaluated everyone’s movement, saw each of their paths, and let that dictate her own. Ramsey and Joffrey were at opposite sides of the Cornucopia, each heading for their respective weapons. Joffrey’s crossbow was to the left, Ramsey’s bow and arrow to the right. She was surprised to see Gendry in the middle, hands already gripped onto the handle of the Warhammer. He looked around after he got it, absent mindedly picking up a backpack that was by his feet. Joffrey and Ramsey weren’t looking at him, distracted with the people not fast enough to get away from them. Joffrey’s eye found her, but instead of zeroing in, he grinned and kept looking.

Arya knew who he was looking for.

Mycah was hiding behind his pedestal, shaking and panicked. He was small enough to go unnoticed for maybe another minute, but not a second longer. Arya jumped onto her feet. Running across the field, multiple tributes panicked and tripped over themselves in an effort to avoid her. One screamed for mercy, though she wasn’t even looking at him. Arya managed to pick up two backpacks on her way to Mycah, dodged a trident thrown by Theon, and caught an arrow shot by Ramsey. It wasn’t seriously aimed, more of a tease, a hello. He wouldn’t kill her like this, quickly and in the beginning. He wanted to make a show of it. Joffrey had similar ideas, ideas that included a red headed boy that was currently trapped with no where to go.

She had to get him out of the fray, get him secured in the branches of tree. He was good above ground, he felt safer there, and was small enough to move nimbly. She made it to him eventually, she could practically hear her father chastising her, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let Joffrey torture him.

Joffrey was watching her, she could feel it on the back of her neck. But he wasn’t going to leave the Cornucopia. Not yet. He had to claim it first, establish his territory. Then he’d venture out, try and find them. But she had time.

“Put these on,” she told Mycah, loading the backpacks onto each side of him. If Joffrey decided to get it over with quickly and just shoot an arrow into him, it would get caught in one of the back packs first. If he hit Mycah’s legs instead, fine, she’d deal with it. “Climb on my back,” she told the boy. He did as he was told, shaking as he clutched about her neck. “Tuck your head into your chest,” she told him, and when she felt him do so, she started running again. Multiple arrows whizzed passed her, letting her know they were watching and taking note of what she was doing and that she wasn’t forgotten. A thud let her know an arrow wedged its way into the backpack on Mycah’s back. He groaned, but she could tell it was from a place of fear and not pain. She ran faster.

Making it into the cover of the forest, she didn’t stop running and she didn’t stop looking around. The Waif was still out there, and Arya had no idea what her plans were, or her motivations. She only hoped she could count on The Waif having no interest with Mycah. She didn’t seem the type to get to Arya through the boy, rather than just going straight to Arya. Maybe she would cut him down if he was in the way, but she would be quick about it. Arya couldn’t say the same about Ramsey and Joffrey, they’d want to put on a show.

When she could no longer hear the screams from the Cornucopia, Arya allowed herself to slow to a trot, and when she felt blisters ware their way into her heals, she started to walk.

“Are you okay?” she asked Mycah. “Did that arrow hurt you?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“I’m going to try to find some water, then I’ll take a look,” she promised. “Do you want me to let you down?”

Mycah hesitated before shaking his head, holding her tighter. Arya didn’t push, though her back was getting tired.

“Okay, you can lift your head up, if you want.”

He didn’t, not for another fifteen minutes, that is.

Arya managed to find a creek. She had rounded up on a lake a bit ago, but thought the landmark would be too sought after, people would be gathering there eventually. It was better for them to stay hidden.

“Okay, Mycah, hop off. It’s safe right now,”

Mycah hesitated, before gathering his strength and dropping himself from Arya’s back. The relief was immediate for her. It had gotten so hot back there, she was sweating like a pig, the air was cool and entirely welcome. “Have a seat,” she gestured to the log they were stopped at. Mycah casted anxious looks to the left and right and left again before removing the backpacks and doing so. Arya stepped behind him, lifting his shirt to find a shallow cut in the middle of his freckled back. It had bled through his clothes, but the bleeding looked to be slowing down. “You’ll be okay, it’s just a scra—”

It was then the cannons started going off. Arya could tell from the tightening of his shoulders and whiteness of his knuckles Mycah was about to scream. Before he could she clapped both hands over his mouth and muffled the noise. “Shh!” she said. “It’s just the cannons, you’re okay,” she whispered. It took a second, but he managed to calm down. Arya took the time to count the cannons, reaching 11. They sat in silence for a moment to make sure the cannons had stopped before she reached for a backpack. “Let's see what we got then,” she smiled. Mycah swallowed, but looked eager to see what was inside. Arya offered the bag, “Do you want to look?”

Mycah nibbled at his lip and took the back pack form Arya. Unzipping it, he poked his head inside. “There’s a blanket,” he said, pulling it out and handing it to Arya. “Empty water bottle, some cordage and rope…uhmm,” he pulled out a loaf of bread and six strips of dried jerky. Arya put the items back in the bag, leaving out the water bottle.

“What about this one?” she handed him the back pack with a hole in it, slightly bloodstained. Mycah didn’t seem to mind, rummaging through. It had a lot of the same stuff, only this one had two apples instead of bread and some gauze. Immediately, Arya wrapped it around Mycah’s torso.

“Well, this is pretty good,” Arya said, sitting back down beside him. “We’ll just fill up on water and get going again. Does that sound okay?”

Mycah looked around, nodded. Arya ruffled his hair.

Digging a hole beside the creek, she waited for water to fill the hole and used that water to fill the bottles. She expected Mycah to question this, but he was too occupied looking around and making sure no one was coming to really notice. Once they were all filled up, Arya had him drink some water, filled it up again, and walked them a bit further into the forest. The further away they were, the better. But the sky was already starting to darken, and she wanted to set them up in a tree well before nighttime.

“Here looks good,” she stopped at a particularly tall tree with lots of foliage. Mycah seemed to like it too, managing a smile in Arya’s direction. “Alright,” Arya took the backpack he was carrying and threw it over the shoulder not carrying the other pack. “Cuties first, start climbing.”

Mycah wasted no time, making quick work of establishing high ground. Arya had to tell him to stop. “I’ll sleep on that branch under you, okay?” she said as she wrapped him in a blanket and tied him to the branch. “If you need anything you can…” she cracked a small skinny branch in half, handed it to him. “Poke me with this stick, especially at night, okay?”

He nodded sliding the branch alongside his leg in the blanket. “Alright,” Arya sighed after triple checking he was secure. “Looks good, I’ll be right down there. Try and get some sleep, cutie,” she maneuvered herself down and set up her own sleeping conditions.

Sleep didn’t come easily for her. She knew this wasn’t smart, she knew her family was shaking their heads at her. This wouldn’t end well, it couldn’t. Not for her, and especially not for Mycah. But…she couldn’t…she couldn’t sit back and let Joffrey get his hands on the boy. Or Ramsey, for that matter. If he was going to die, she didn’t want it to be by them, at the very least. Was she going to do it? Could she?

…

There was no answer inside her.

Gendry

Once he got the Warhammer, there was no clear way out aside from smashing away everyone in his path.

He knew Joffrey and Ramsey were on either side of him, and they were the only two he was okay with killing. The rest…

He watched them falling over themselves, clumsily hacking at each other. It was messy and nobody was dying quickly, he couldn’t bring himself to add to the carnage. Casting looks to both sides, he saw Joffrey and Ramsey taking aim and shooting all around them, neither taking notice of Gendry. He took the opportunity to step further in the Cornucopia, allowing the metal walls to cover him. They were also trapping him inside, but it seemed as good as he was likely to get in that moment.

The screams were somehow louder in there, as were the cries, the slashes and the breakings of bones. Gendry wanted to close his eyes, clutch his ears and block it out, but he needed to stay alert. Joffrey and Ramsey were coming in soon, and he needed to be ready for them.

Looking around, he saw multiple deadly weapons lining the walls. He didn’t hesitate before grabbing a couple throwing knives and shoved them in his belt. He wasn’t good with throwing knives, but he could use them for other stuff. He was debating taking a particularly nasty looking sword when thuds on the roof of the Cornucopia set his heart into rapid palpitations. It took him a second to conclude Joffrey and Ramsey had climbed their way up to the roof, shooting at the different tributes from higher ground. Gendry’s mind scrambled for ways to spin this to his advantage and could only come up with one possible solution.

Sighing in resignation, he took his hammer, squatted to the ground, and with all his strength slammed it into the ceiling of the Cornucopia. The banging sound was near deafening, but he when he also heard bodies falling to the ground towards the back of the Cornucopia, Gendry didn’t let himself hesitate. Running out full sprint while the Career boys were still collecting themselves, he ignored the violent ringing in his ear.

He was so focused to keep running, he almost didn’t notice the bow laying a bit of a ways off. Ramsey must have dropped it when he fell. Casting a panicked look behind him, and not seeing either tribute making their way toward him, Gendry raised his Warhammer and slammed it onto the bow, cracking it in half. He didn’t spare another second, running into the forest.

He was walking around aimlessly, not knowing what he was looking for but not feeling secure enough to stop for the night. He stopped at a lake, filled his empty water bottle from the backpack he picked up earlier, and kept walking. Sure, taking up camp by a lake would be ideal, but he wasn’t a total idiot. Everyone would be looking for a fucking lake.

He kept walking, wondering if he should stop, decided not to, kept walking. He doubted he’d ever stop if it wasn’t for a voice calling out to him.

“Gendry?”

He raised his Warhammer.

This was only met with a giggle, and he lowered it recognizing the voice. “Gilly?” he called. “Where are you?”

A head popped up from beneath large roots of a tree. “Hi,” she said.

“Hey,”

They stared at each other. Her mouth twisted to the side. “I guess you wouldn’t want to be allies…”

Gendry sighed. “I…I…”

Gilly stared.

“Alright,” he sighed, “For right now, as long as we can.”

Gilly smiled.


End file.
